


To Follow the Road Home

by caffeinatedmusing



Series: Adventures of an Altmer Rogue [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Bisexual Male Character, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Gay Male Character, M/M, Thalmor, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 44,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedmusing/pseuds/caffeinatedmusing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ceirin and Teldryn have a solid thing going; adventure and coin aplenty. But Ceirin's titles come with some serious implications. And the Thalmor haven't failed to notice. Times like these call for keeping friends close, enemies at swordpoint, and family at a distance. Disavowed by his guild, and disowned by his parents, can Ceirin get by leaning on the only one he has left?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Markarth

Teldryn walked with his head tipped up, admiring the soaring levels of Dwemer architecture; the towers, winding stairs, and balconies of homes tucked back against the sheer cliff face. There was bound to be a spectacular view of the surrounding valley. 

And the energy! 

There were people from all over Skyrim and parts beyond. He saw Khajiit, their caravan having just arrived, setting up their tents, tails swishing as they purred offers to passersby. 

A smoky mouthwatering aroma drifted from a food stall where a vendor was grilling up some mammoth meat and giving out samples. 

In a colorful jewelry kiosk, a woman held up a mirror for a customer trying on a pair of earrings. The metal and chips of precious stones sparkled in the light. 

At still another, a dog breeder had a litter of pups for sale. They bounced and tumbled over each other and their parents within the safety of the penned area set up for them.

Throngs of people milled around the market, the smells of sweat, smoke, ale, fabric dye, perfumes, and juniper resin warming under the bright sun flooding Teldryn’s nostrils as he brushed shoulders with strangers. The clamor of sound; vendors shouting about their wares, the ebb and flow of dozens of conversations overrode the far off thunder of machinery drifting from the mines and forges. The cobbles underfoot thrummed with it.

“Can you imagine what Markarth must have looked like when the dwarves were living here?” He turned to grin at his lover. “I can't even begin to imagine." 

“Like this, except with all mer.” Ceirin shrugged.

The spellsword snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m lots of fun.” Ceirin stuck his tongue out. “That’s why you hang around. That and the coin.”

Teldryn laughed. Now this was a city.

Their exchange dropped off as they approached the nearest section of vendors, maneuvering their way through the press of bodies.

Markarth prided itself on its Dwemer history, and profited by it as well. It had a lockdown on the open market. People dealing in pieces from outside sites had to register for a special permit. Dealing on the black market, however, was another matter; one they were here to pursue. Among other things.

Ceirin went from stall to stall with purpose, talking to people; asking prices, making offers, and getting names. Bit by bit, they lightened their load. The two mer wove a circuitous path around the place so as not to attract too much attention. They tried the grilled mammoth and even stopped to pet the puppies.

Ceirin was being more cautious, no longer having the guild to officially back him. While he was technically still Guild master, they had all agreed it best that he distance himself for the time being. Brynjolf was running things in the meanwhile. 

It occurred to Teldryn that while what they were doing was illegal, it didn’t bother him at all to be a part of it. There was an art and a pattern to the bargaining he found interesting.

The spellsword was so engrossed in following the process that he missed the first shouts of alarm. A wave of people stumbled back towards them, crowding to get away from something. He elbowed Ceirin to get his attention, trying to peer over the heads and shoulders of taller Nords and one burly orc. 

A frisson of alarm rushed out through the mob.

Both he and the altmer dropped hands closer to their weapons, still craning to see what was happening. 

Then the screaming started; piercing agonized shrieks that made people in the crowd cry out in shock and fright. The gathered crowd surged further back to clear a path. 

A woman stumbled out and collapsed against him. Teldryn caught at her arms, trying to steady her, but her legs wouldn’t hold. He lowered her to the ground. She left thick dark streaks of blood down his chest plate and arms on her way down. The tattered fabric of her clothes told the story. Stabbed. Multiple times. He watched her eyes go vacant as her face slackened. He knew before he felt for a pulse that it would be gone. 

“Stop him! He’s getting away!”

“Murderer!”

“Forsworn here in the city?! By the gods!”

All around them, the mob began to react.

Somewhere close by a child started sobbing. 

Ceirin had his bow drawn, but couldn’t get a clear shot. It appeared the man would get away until several arrows fired into the square from the elevated walkways over the market dropped him into the gutter like a rock. The guards had finally responded.

As the market cleared out fast, the two mer retreated to the Silverblood Inn so Teldryn could get cleaned up. Afterwards, they huddled over mugs of hard cider and waited for things to settle down.

“What’s the plan?” Teldryn peered at the dregs in the bottom of his mug. “Do we still try this afternoon? Seems like bad timing now and we’ve got the room until morning…” 

They still had things to sell and a Thalmor Commander to coerce. Markarth, whether cheerful or murderous, was still their only option.

“This afternoon. My concern is the guards. They’re keeping a sharp eye out for anything suspicious now and I don’t want to end up in the mines.”

The spellsword nodded his wholehearted agreement to that. 

An hour later, they walked through the cavernous foyers and up the immense sets of stone stairs into the keep itself. 

Teldryn gazed around, trying to take it all in. The Dwemer ruins they had been in thus far had been haunting in their vacancy; echoes fading away with no answer, machines still whirring and puttering about with no one to tend them. Here, the infrastructure was still utilized, echoing with the grind and clank of machinery, the reek of smoke and steam, and teeming with people. It was nearly as busy as the market.  
He looked around with an eye to defense. There were spaces of deep shadow and rubble that had yet to be cleared away. Columns and low walls offered areas of cover. There were city guards everywhere and…  
He felt a chill run up his spine at the disciplined formation of lithe soldiers in elegant gleaming armor as they rounded a corner and marched out in perfect lines, accompanied by several equally tall officials in heavy dark robes. _Thalmor._

A nervous rush of adrenaline spread through his stomach. He waited until they had passed out of earshot. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“No. But I do not see that we have another choice.”

Teldryn squinted up at him. Ceirin’s accent was stronger.

As they walked down the corridor that lead to the Commander’s office, heads turned and noses visibly lifted away in disdain. The effect was unsettling, to say the least. 

He stayed so close to Ceirin that he kept bumping into him. The rogue kept his back straight, head up, face forward. His expression was a blank mask. He wouldn’t look at Teldryn at all.

The lanky Commander was stooped over his desk like a vulture, arguing with the steward when they were announced. 

“Tell your Jarl that my men are not his personal attack dogs. The Forsworn are his problem, not mine.” 

The steward, seizing upon the distraction of their arrival, hurried to make his exit.

Ondolemar straightened up to his imposing height, his beautiful features somehow pulling up from his eyebrows into a sneer that he seemed to think made an adequate greeting. 

“Oh. It’s you. I haven’t got any jobs posted at the moment.”

“Just as well. I’m here to speak to you, Commander. Privately.” Ceirin’s gaze flickered to the two guards standing by the door.

Teldryn heard that little extra something in Ceirin’s voice. It must have worked because the Commander looked the two of them over and then dismissed his guards, gesturing for his guests to sit. 

“This had better be worth my time. I’m a very busy mer.”

“I think it will be. ” Ceirin pulled a file from inside his coat and handed it across the desk. 

The Thalmor Commander opened it and flipped through the pages. Then he went back and looked again, more slowly this time. His face did not betray much, other than tightness around the eyes. 

“So, Elenwen is paying my guards.” He set the file down and drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ve kept her apprised. I wonder what she…”

“I have a theory, if you care to hear it.” Ceirin studied his fingers and did his best to look utterly disinterested.

“Oh, do tell. How I long to hear your paranoid conspiracies. What could an outcast mercenary know about the higher workings of the Thalmor military?”

Teldryn choked back a laugh. It was rude but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t expected such theatrical sarcasm from a Justiciar. The spellsword could well imagine Ondolemar’s troops being terrified of him, lest he wield that to humiliate them in front of their peers. 

A mercenary….He didn’t know who Ceirin was? Suddenly, Teldryn understood just how many layers of leverage they had.

“I think she needs to know what you’re doing at all times because she needs to work around you.” 

The Commander frowned thoughtfully over that. “The First Emissary has her own assigments, of course, but nothing that should require spying on me. She is an ambassador.”

“Is that all? It may not be common knowledge to the rest of the world, but you and I both know that the White Gold Concordant did not end the Great War; it just put it on hold. At some point in the next decade or ten, it will resume. I imagine that there are those who would like to see that happen sooner rather than later. An ambassador stationed in Skyrim would be in a unique position in that regard.”

Ondolemar looked annoyed now.

“That is a serious accusation. Even if you had proof, which I note you do not, the First Emissary has diplomatic immunity.” 

“Even if she were to put out warrants for, say, the Dragonborn’s head…?”

“I assure you, no such thing has been ordered. Our work here is to enforce the ban on Talos worship. The First Emissary is concerned with smoothing trade negotiations and charming the ruling class. To make an attempt on the Nord’s pet folk hero would imply that the Dominion believes in such nonsense. Peace is tenuous enough. Assuming anyone could even succeed at such a task? It could cost us Skyrim, if it ever came to light.”

Ceirin sighed and reached back into his coat to pull out the second file.

Ondolemar shuffled through the orders in that one, noting the dates and Elenwen’s signatures. His expression grew incredulous.

“How did you come to possess these?”

Ceirin leaned back and looked Ondolemar dead in the eyes. “I am not without connections of my own. Have any of your soldiers have gone missing around those dates?” 

The Commanders expression flickered. 

“None… that I haven’t accounted for… You want what in exchange for this information?”

“Information.” Ceirin answered. “I am searching for a missing person. Thalmor agents brought him from Alinor to Skyrim. This kid is underage, a student, and the son of a rather influential Thalmor family. The official report claims a training accident.”

“Preposterous.” Ondolemar cut in. “What on Tamriel could our agents possibly want with a student?” 

“Unknown. At any rate, if you can learn who may have arrived in Solitude, likely a small group a few months back, where they may have gone while they were here, who is funding them, that sort of thing, I would appreciate it.”

“You are assuming a lot about what I can do. And what I’m willing to do.” Ondolemar threw the papers down on his desk.

“I’m assuming there are operatives active in your territory and you didn’t know. Elenwen has a reason for buying off your bodyguards. Who do you think will take the blame for what they do while they’re here? Whether you’re meant to live through that…well…” Ceirin put that subtle emphasis into his voice again, not that the threat needed underlining.

“….I will have to…verify a few things. Before I agree to anything.”

“We’ll be in Solitude, when you find something.” Ceirin smirked.

They excused themselves and left the Commander to stare at their retreating forms in distaste.


	2. The Road North

Back out on the streets, Ceirin let out a long slow breath and let his shoulders relax into a more natural pose. His pace dropped to something reasonable. His jaw unclenched and he shook out his hands. 

“We’re leaving. _Now._ ”

And that was when it hit Teldryn. Ceirin hadn’t just been mimicking their body language to blend in or because he’d been reminded of old habits. He’d done it because _he was terrified of them._

They headed back to the Silverblood Inn to gather their things. On their way out, they stopped to barter with the Khajiit, who never seemed to care how an item was acquired, only what it was worth. 

Ceirin got rid of some of his less than legal inventory while Teldryn replenished their perishable supplies. They got horses and headed up the road as the afternoon stretched on and the shadows lengthened. The spellsword would have suggested the carriage, but they had nervous energy to burn off and things to talk about that shouldn’t be overheard. 

They found a spot to camp, tucked up under an overhanging ledge and sheltered from the wind, by the time the sun went down. Seated by a roaring fire of pungent juniper, out beyond the city limits, they ate and drank and talked while the stars came out and the aurora shifted in ribbons of mesmerizing colors overhead. 

“Well.” Ceirin held a bottle of ale in both hands, rolling it back and forth in his palms between sips, as he stared into the fire. “Things could’ve gone worse.” 

“Sure. We weren’t caught, we didn’t get attacked, and we made some profit. But I don’t trust him. Why do you?” 

“I don’t. Not past a point. Did I ever tell you about the first job I ever did for him?” 

“No.” 

“There was a man who was close to the Jarl. He was suspected of Talos worship. The Commander hired me to get an amulet out of his house. Proof, so he could throw this fellow in the mines.” 

“….Tell me you didn’t.” 

“That’s just it. I destroyed the amulet. Then I reported I hadn’t found anything. I think he knew what I had done, but he never said a word.” 

“I’m missing something. Why does that make you trust him?” 

“A hard line Thalmor would never let an outsider handle evidence in an investigation. The worst ones don’t need evidence; they arrest on suspicion alone. I think Ondolemar did it because he wanted to avoid shaking up the Jarl’s court, if he could. Nords already resent them for being here. It would have made him more enemies and been harder on his people in the long term.” 

“So…he’s a sympathizer…or just self -serving?” Teldryn asked between mouthfuls of ale. 

“Self- serving. He’s probably a screw up who got posted to this ass end of nowhere as punishment.” The rogue shrugged. “That’s why he’ll help. He doesn’t want to be the scapegoat for anything else going on. Or he might never get to go home.” 

“You used your voice on him.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I just needed him to listen. I didn’t….take away his will or anything.” Ceirin shifted his shoulders. 

“….Could you have?” Teldryn felt alarm trickle through him. 

Guilt flashed across the younger mer’s face and he had his answer. 

“Some of the words I’ve learned, the shouts….they are not…I’m afraid to try them.” 

Ceirin downed several swallows of his ale and leaned closer to the fire. He sat with his eyes closed and his head bowed, tense pale knuckles standing out against the dark ceramic bottleneck. 

The spellsword let his shoulders relax. _Of course, Ceirin wouldn’t. Of all the things to get sidetracked worrying over_. 

He recalled the look that had frozen the Thalmor’s elegant features for a split second when they had presented their evidence to him. 

“He didn’t know. About his guards, I mean.” Teldryn still wasn’t too sure of the plan. Still too many ways it could go seriously wrong for his taste. 

“Now he has a reason to take another look at what’s going on right under his nose. If I was Commander, I’d want to know.” Ceirin pointed out. “So, that, with the questions we asked….” 

“You’re hoping he’ll lead us to something?” Teldryn glanced back in the direction of the road. _Had it been his imagination or had he heard something? ___

“No. I do hope…but I think he’ll head to Solitude, too.” 

“You’re awfully sure of that.” The spellsword cocked his head to one side, scratching at the growing -out edges of his hair. Sometimes Ceirin’s little jumps in logic eluded him. 

Ceirin managed a grin, teeth flashing for just a moment before his expression grew solemn once again. 

“The Imperial General,Tullius, is stationed there. That’s who we’re going to see next. I expect we may run into Ondolemar when we get there, if not before.” 

Teldryn knew about the political strife that had marked Skyrim in the last years. It had been one reason why he’d moved to Solstheim. The civil war had broken out a few months after his last serious patron had died, and when the rumors had started circulating that both sides were drafting mercenaries and sell swords, for well below their going rates, he’d figured it was high time to head out. As good a time as any to be on Morrowind soil. 

And now he was going to help Ceirin put a Thalmor Commander in the same room as an Imperial Legion General. He sighed and wondered how many heads might roll over that encounter. So long as they weren’t his. Or Ceirin’s… 

“You’re going to set them against each other and hope something shakes loose.” 

“It will. They’re competitors here, not allies. Plus, the General might not remember me from anyone. It could take us days to get an audience. But the Commander of Markarth? He’ll be seen immediately. ” 

_“Impressive.”_

Both mer leaped to their feet, hands going to draw weapons. 

An ale bottle shattered when it fell and hit the rocky ground. 

“You are more observant than I gave you credit for.” A hooded figure shifted forward out of the darkness and revealed the form of the Commander himself. Somewhere behind that, a horse whinnied and their own mounts snorted and stomped in reply. 

Ceirin eyed the darkness around their camp. This was a nice place to seek shelter but not so nice a place to get surrounded. 

“You came out here alone?” 

“I managed to concoct an errand that should keep my guards busy for a few days, yes. As you surmised, I am on my way north. Although, I mean to stop at the Embassy, first. Elenwen should be touring the College in Winterhold, so I can access her office. There are a few things I’d like to verify. ” 

“I’d offer to help, but I wore out my welcome there the last time.” 

A tense silence stretched while all three mer evaluated one another. Ceirin, and then Teldryn, lowered their swords. The quiet fizz and gurgle of lost ale and sparking of the fire seemed louder than their voices had been. After a moment, the rogue gestured for Ondolemar to join them by the fire. 

The new arrival shifted, almost awkward. 

“I..apologize for my less than civil manner earlier. Your sense of timing is… apocryphal.” 

Teldryn thought he saw Ceirin flinch at the word choice, but in the flickering firelight, he couldn’t be sure. 

“I did not know the Forsworn would be murdering people.” Ceirin had started to sound formal again. 

“It didn’t help your case any. If those responsible for today’s fiasco can manage to frame someone, they will certainly do so. Someone who already has warrants…and who may have been seen in the city at the time of the attack…” 

“Are you threatening us?” Teldryn’s hand twitched back to the hilt of his blade. He had no desire to kill a Thalmor Justiciar, but if it was a choice between that or letting him arrest Ceirin… 

_And they were alone in the wilderness._

Ceirin’s eyes narrowed. 

“Careful, Ondolemar. I only deal with threats once.” 

“It was a warning, for Auri-el’s sake. I take back what I said about your observational skills,” The robed altmer huffed and held up his hands in defense. “But, perhaps you should stay out of the city for a while. I have very little say in what the Jarl decides and the very mention of Forsworn makes him irrational.” 

“Thank you.” Ceirin’s tone was dry. 

There was another tense silence before the Justiciar spoke again. 

“I did not know you were the Dragonborn.” He side eyed Ceirin curiously. “You are the one who broke into the Embassy all those years ago, are you not? Little wonder that Elenwen hates you so. You made her look quite the fool. I don’t know what you took, but she was livid for months.” 

“Do you really want to know?” Ceirin squinted at him over the rim of a fresh bottle of ale. 

“…No. Unlike you seem to, I value my skin.” 

Their camp that night was uncomfortable, with the three mer struggling to find conversation, and later, the trust enough to sleep while sharing the watch. The forsworn were active this time of year, stepping up their raiding before winter. There was also the usual assortment of wildlife to be wary of. The Reach was no place to travel undefended or distracted. There was truth to the ‘safety in numbers’ philosophy, one each was privately grateful for in an otherwise hostile landscape. 

They rode on the next morning until they parted ways, a little north of Dragon’s Bridge, in the cold damp fog. 

“Good luck. I’d tell you about the secret exit, but she probably blocked that up years ago.” Ceirin pulled his horse around to smirk at Ondolemar, “And be sure to check the hidden compartment in her desk!” 

Teldryn glanced back and caught a glimpse of the Justiciar shaking his head before he turned his horse up the side road west and vanished, swallowed up by the mist. 

“You’re going to get yourself arrested!” The spellsword called to his lover as they galloped north. 

“It’s overdue.” Ceirin called back, grinning, “But did you see the look on his face?” 

Then Teldryn was the one left shaking his head then as they rode along. 


	3. A Meeting in Solitude

They met up in Solitude. Ondolemar, as predicted, was granted an immediate audience. 

“Do you mean to tell me that there have been Thalmor running operations off the books in my jurisdiction?!” Once the story came out, General Tullius was ready to chew up iron and spit out slag.

Ondolemar had the discipline to remain impassive in the face of the Imperial’s anger.

“I assure you, General, I was unaware. Hence the current investigation. Need I remind you, however, that the Thalmor are hardly required to announce themselves to you.”

“They may not be required, but they had better have the sense to do it anyway if they expect to remain allies. These are citizens of the Empire we’re talking about. They have rights and I’m to uphold them.”

“Gentlemen.” Ceirin broke in, seeing the tension between the two devolving into yet another fruitless argument. “If you two need to take this pissing contest out to the courtyard, please do so. In the meantime, those of us who are interested in actually getting something done can remain here and keep working on this.”

Both military leaders turned and gaped at him but he just stared, cocked an eyebrow, and waited. Suitably shamed, they both quieted down. Ondolemar studied Ceirin through hooded eyes.

“Why would they kidnap the boy?” Tullius asked.

“We haven’t yet determined that. He is supposed to be a highly gifted mage, but the Dominion does not have such need of magic that they would snatch a child who has yet to complete his training.” 

“He’s seventeen. He’s been training, so not exactly defenseless. The group that took him, lured him from his school…My…..the parents were told it was a reward. They even signed some kind of form.” Ceirin cut in.

Both Ondolemar and Tullius turned to look at him.

“So they used a ruse. Interesting.” Tullius had missed Ceirin’s slip. “That suggests they needed compliance. Are you certain this wasn’t just what they say? An accident?”

“My client, Adjucator Aedthaer, submitted a formal inquiry. It was backlogged. She petitioned in person. And was denied.” Ceirin paced, hands behind his back. “The Thalmor don’t stall someone of her rank like that. Not unless they actually didn’t know what had happened and were scrambling to find out for themselves. Or….if they sanctioned it.”

Ondolemar was already shaking his head.

“Once again you make dangerous allegations with no evidence.”

“It fits with Thalmor behavior though, doesn’t it. I don’t know what you tell yourself to justify what you help to keep in motion, but this is the reason your kind are hated.” Tullius rubbed a hand over his close cropped salt and pepper hair as he scowled at the Justiciar.

“The Dominion most certainly _did not_ sanction this. No matter how evil you may think us, how you could even begin to think so is beyond paranoid. It’s failed reasoning.” Color was beginning to heat Ondolemar’s cheeks as his anger sparked to the surface.

While he had directed that at Tullius, it was Ceirin who answered.

“….He’s my brother.”

Both of the opposing military representatives stopped dead in their arguing to stare again.

“You’re the Dragonborn.” Tullius frowned after a few moments to digest the new information.“Whoever took him may have done so to get to you. Was there a ransom demand?”

“No.” 

“ _The Dominion did not do this_. As I said before, it would only lend you a legitimacy you lack.”

“So they don’t believe he’s the Dragonborn? Maybe it doesn’t matter. He’s made a name for himself here, and that can pull a lot of people in its wake, regardless.” 

Ceirin huffed out a loud sigh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t care if they believe or not. Now,” He gestured at the map of Skyrim taking up one wall; military markers showed locations of forts, supply routes, and major cities, “Can we please work on finding him first and worry about _why_ after?”

Tullius refocused. “Skyrim is a lot of territory. If we can’t narrow down a search area, then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” 

“We can narrow it.” Ceirin pointed to the markers regarding Imperial activities. “They won’t be anywhere close to your people. Too much risk of discovery. ”

General Tullius nodded in agreement.

“Why don’t you ask First Emissary Elenwen about this? With all that she knows about what goes on in this country, I’d be surprised if she couldn’t point you right to them. ” The man looked back and forth between the two altmer.

“We suspect she may have some…involvement.” Ondolemar hedged.

General Tullius sobered at that. “You suspect? Or you know?”

“We know she paid off my guards for information.” Ondolemar’s shoulders and spine were ramrod straight throughout the confession. 

It couldn’t be easy for him; having to rat out a fellow Thalmor, especially after the rant he had just made in their defense. Teldryn surprised himself with the pang of sympathy he felt. He shook it off.

“Did you find anything in her office?” The spellsword asked.

“I left the files as I found them. However, she has several more people on her payroll than appear on her employment records for the Embassy. She is also spending more than her salary should allow. More bribes, I suspect. ”

“You were correct about the desk.” The Commander continued, directing his comment to Ceirin, “I found a registry indicating that a small group arrived from Summerset in the time frame you specified. No names, just sets of initials. The outgoing register is missing one; the initials EA.”

“That’s who we’re looking for.”

“She knows quite a bit about the Legion as well.” General Tullius rubbed a hand over his chin before looking pointedly at Ondolemar. “How do your people intend to handle this if she’s caught?” 

“She has immunity. Even with proof, the worst that’s likely to happen is that she would be recalled.” Ondolemar gave an unhappy shrug, all his earlier bluster quelled.

“You didn’t find any record of where they went? Nothing that looked like supply shipments?” Ceirin asked. “Those payments couldn’t be rent, or a property purchased?”

The Thalmor commander shook his head. “Either would leave a paper trail. And using an intermediary would mean someone else knowing.”

“So..that means water access; boats, a pier, a harbor, something….” Ceirin trailed off, studying the coastlines.

“What we need is time.” Tullius mused. “The closer we get without her knowing, the closer we are to shutting it down before she can react to cover her trail.”

The room fell into a period of silence as they all considered the map some more. 

Teldryn sat with his feet up on the corner of the desk and stared, his mind wandering. _No cities or towns…..but they couldn’t set up a camp unnoticed and keeping someone out in the open was risky; animals, bandits, weather, escape….maybe a cave system, or a mine._ He kept coming back to a little bald spot among all the pins and markers.

“What’s in this area here?” He dropped his feet off the desk and leaned forward to point out the empty patch.

“There’s nothing out there,” Tullius sounded doubtful. “Some fishermen, long range hunters, the occasional bandit…The only dock is….No. Wait. There’s an old fort, abandoned during the Great War. The dock was a part of that.”

Ceirin turned to look at Teldryn and then back to the map. He nodded.

“That’s it. That’s where we look.”

“Do you really think it would be so close to the Embassy?” Ondolemar cocked his head to one side, considering the area.

“She is a control freak, right?” The spellsword looked to the others for confirmation.

“You can say that again.” Tullius refrained from rolling his eyes. Barely.

Ondolemar’s lips pressed into a thin pale line, but one corner of his mouth twitched in something that might have been a repressed smile. He nodded.

“So”, Teldryn continued, “She wouldn’t leave this to chance.”

Within minutes, General Tullius had ordered his scouts out.

“Will your troops be joining us?” The General asked the Commander as they all walked back to the courtyard together.

“No need.” Ondolemar’s chin lifted as he surveyed a small group of legion soldiers practicing sword drills off to one side. “My own training and magicka are more than sufficient to the task. I think you’ll find there is nothing that a superior altmer, such as myself, is unprepared for.” 

“So I keep hearing.” That time Tullius did roll his eyes.

They separated in the courtyard; Tullius returning to his duties, Ondolemar heading back to Markarth, while Ceirin and Teldryn headed to the Inn to get a room for the night before traveling back to Riften in the morning. Both Tullius and his Thalmor counterpart had more investigating to do, and it would take the scouts some time to explore and report back. 

Teldryn had been uneasy, thinking the Legion might act without them or do nothing and tell them they hadn’t found anything, but Ceirin had recognized one of the scouts, a Nord named Hadvar, who he apparently trusted to follow through.

Now it was just a matter of waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Rambling chapter is rambling. Ondolemar is beginning to get a sense of what Ceirin might be capable of. What he'll decide to do about that is still up for debate.   
>  I'm getting increasingly nervous about the pacing. Normally I write about 3/4ths of a fic before I begin to post it. Gives me a good buffer in case of life shit or writers block or whatever. I have maybe....10 chapters? Unedited. And that isn't even half. *sigh* Now back to finishing the budget because thats what I'm supposed to be doing rn.


	4. Operatic

_The Blue Palace was not a place Teldryn would ever have expected to find himself. Listening to an opera, no less. A patron of the arts, Elisif had remodeled a wing of the Palace to host just such events as this. Every noble and important person from Solitude had been invited, as well as some from further away. The spellsword heard half a dozen accents, from all over Skyrim and Cyrodiil. He felt wildly out of place. If Ceirin hadn’t been sitting next to him, he would have suspected it was a dream._

They had arrived at the Inn to find a message already waiting for them. One look at the Ceirin’s face had told Teldryn that whatever it was, it was well out of even the rogue’s comfort zone.

“It’s an invitation… from my parents. My father’s latest piece is being performed at the Blue Palace and they want us to join them. And to dine with them after.” 

“They want us over to have dinner? No offense, I know I haven’t met your father yet but your mother is...”

“No; _‘to dine'._ There is a difference.”

“How so?”

“Well….Mostly it’s to do with the number of forks.”

Teldryn should have taken his lover’s panicked expression as a sign of what was to come. 

There had been a whirlwind of emergency shopping to get presentable clothes. After days of travel, they had both looked, and smelled, rather frightful; wonderful for intimidating people, but not so much for socializing with the upper classes. Neither had packed anything suitable. Teldryn didn’t even own anything that fancy.

The Innkeeper had been helpful, directing them to shops and calling in a barber for haircuts and shaving. Ceirin bought a few expensive soaps in a variety of scents from the apothecary, who excelled at blending fragrances. There were more perfume bottles, dried flowers, and jars of potpourri on her shelves than the usual array of medicinal herbs or potions. 

Then it had been back to their room to scrub up and get dressed. 

Teldryn had been standing in front of the mirror, tugging at his cuffs and making sure the double row of buttons on his vest were smoothed. He scarcely recognized his own reflection. His hair had been cut shorter, so the central strip of longer hair would more easily blend with the sides as they grew out. He’d probably shave it again, but he’d wait until spring; a full head of hair seemed like a good investment for what he remembered about winter in Skyrim. His goatee was back to being even. All the dirt was out from beneath his nails. He smelled good. He could get used to this.

His new clothing was better quality than anything he had ever owned, although he couldn’t fathom what he would ever wear it for again; dark gray wool pants, soft brushed leather shoes with etched silver buckles, a black shirt and a vest in a thick dark plum colored fabric, all tailored to fit him perfectly. He liked the look, but it would take some getting used to. He could have passed for a high ranking member of one of the Great Houses; a Telvanni, perhaps. He grinned at the thought.

Ceirin, on the other hand…. 

In a cream colored silk shirt, black pants, and a long form fitting high collared coat in the current Altmeri style, all soft amber material embroidered with some kind of design, the light beard he had started growing neatly trimmed, his hair cut to just past his shoulders and swept back so that his earrings caught the light; Ceirin looked like some kind of pirate lord. 

Teldryn had stood staring, heat rushing up his spine, as he was struck by the nearly overwhelming urge to drag Ceirin to the bed and tear all those gorgeous clothes right back off of him. Fortunately, or not, the carriage had arrived to pick them up before he could act on it.

And then they were there, walking up through the expansive gardens and through the high double doors to exchange introductions with Solitude’s high and mighty. 

Ceirin’s father met them at the base of the main stairs. His mother had, for whatever reason, remained behind.

Lord Arncurion Aedthar was a whip thin, narrow shouldered mer, pale gold in his coloring, right down to the long silver blond hair he wore carefully braided down his back. His long artistic fingers, ink stained from hours spent composing, tapped restlessly on the decorative column that formed the lower end of the handrail. 

He was taller than both his son and his wife; Teldryn had to lift his chin to look him in the eye. The spellsword was accounted tall among dunmer, but here he felt tiny. They were both literally looking down on him. No wonder Ceirin considered himself to be short. If Nalarie had reminded Teldryn of a bird of prey, then Arncurion made him think of the herons that fished in the shallows around Blacklight. 

“You’re late.” 

“Hello, father, how are you?” Ceirin’s voice was all sarcastic cheer over their stiff handshake of greeting.

Arncurion frowned at his son before taking him by the shoulders and holding him out at arms length to study him. 

“You look well.” He said at last as he let go. 

“You too, father.”

Ceirin made Teldryn’s introduction then, to which his father looked the spellsword over and made a sort of ‘hmph’ sound. 

“Your mother had mentioned you had…a…er….Yes. Well ,then.” 

Teldryn had no idea what to make of it. The spellsword had hoped that Ceirin’s father might prove….he wasn’t sure what…warmer? More parental? But no; Arncurion was as stern and socially awkward as could be. It made the spellsword wonder how on Nirn two mer like them could possibly have created and raised a mer like Ceirin.

The moment was saved by Queen Elisif herself, sweeping into the room amidst a crowd of advisors and attendants. She spotted Ceirin and came over.

“Dragonborn! Welcome. I am so glad you could make it.” She greeted, radiating poise, as Ceirin bowed low over her hand. In the years since she had become High Queen, Elisif had grown into the role. “I had no idea Lord and Lady Aedthaer were your parents.” 

“Dragonborn? What is this nonsense?” Arncurion demanded as soon as he had straightened from his own bow.

“Maestro, your son is a great hero. You must be so proud of him. Surely, you knew?” 

Ceirin’s mouth was open and he had a hand halfway up to interrupt, but his father turned on him.

“What do these people think you did?”

“Ah….I… killed a dragon…that was causing some trouble.”

“Ha. No need for modesty. He killed Alduin the World Eater and saved us all.” Falk Firebeard nodded heartily in greeting as he joined the group. 

Ceirin’s expression was caught somewhere between mortification and panic. 

Teldryn saw the pleading look he shot the Queen.

“Well, I will let him tell you. You should go and find your seats now, or all the best ones will be taken. ” Elisif tactfully changed the subject before she moved off through the room, exchanging greetings with the rest of her guests as they filed in.

A servant who had been hovering anxiously nearby until he could interrupt approached Arncurion and spoke softly. “Maestro, the musicians are ready to start warming up.” 

“We will talk about this later.” Arncurion turned on his heel and followed the messenger.

“Yes, sir.” Ceirin made a face. 

The rogue sighed heavily and turned to his lover.

“And here I was worried that dinner wouldn’t be awkward enough.”

They headed in to find seats. However the rest of the evening would turn out, the music, at least, was brilliant.


	5. Dinner Theatre

Ceirin’s mother and father were staying in an immense old three story mansion, as guests of the Queen. They were determined to see this through, which was about the only thing Teldryn felt he could respect about them.

The table was formal. Teldryn had never known there were so many kinds of forks. _Well, Ceirin had tried to warn him._ Servants laid everything out and later took the dishes away again. The experience was altogether alien to and left much to be desired. 

To him, family dinner was the memories of himself and his parents, his aunt, his cousin, friends or maybe a neighbor or two huddled together around the small table in their old kitchen, bumping elbows while passing each other dishes of food. 

It was him and Ceirin, and sometimes a few guild members, working together in the kitchen and arguing over who got to use the ‘good’ cutting board, or whether or not the roast needed more seasoning.

It was loud conversations getting louder as drinks were finished off. It was gossip and laughter. 

It was something he could not put into words but it was at the core of home and family for him and it didn’t exist or belong in this cold, proper space.

As it was, Teldryn followed Ceirin’s lead. They managed to get through the first courses without too much animosity. Both parents were relieved to hear that a search was underway. Ceirin reassured them both that he would tell them the minute he knew anything for certain and warned them not to get their hopes up. 

Arncurion, now in his own space, relaxed a bit. He questioned them about the Dwemer and requested any sheet music or instruments they happened to find. The spellsword saw more similarities to Ceirin in the small expressions of Arncurion’s face and the way his eyes lit up with a certain spark when asked how he had gotten into music.

Nalarie and Ceirin talked about some plants she had seen; apparently Ceirin’s interest in alchemy was her influence. She asked Teldryn about his magical training.

It was during a carefully neutral discussion on how they were finding life in Solitude so far, when Nalarie went rather pale. She made a small sound of distress, and covering her mouth with her napkin, rushed away from the table.

His father half rose from his chair, sat back again, and fidgeted with his cutlery, seeming quite at a loss for what to do until she returned and sat back down.

A servant came in, took her plate away, and placed a cup of tea in its place. The aroma of mint drifted over the table. _Was she ill?_

The spellsword glanced at his lover, only to catch a suspicious and disbelieving squint on Ceirin’s face.

“Mother…?”

Nalarie sipped her tea and used the time to compose herself.

“You may as well know.” She met her son’s eyes. “Your father and I are expecting again.”

Whatever the two younger mer had anticipated her saying, it hadn’t been that. 

“Congratulations.” The spellsword offered automatically to cover the awkward silence of Ceirin opening and closing his mouth in stunned surprise. 

“…What…when…?” The rogue managed.

“In early summer.” Her laugh was self -deprecating, “I didn’t think I could still conceive, at my age, but here we are.”

 _She’s frightened._ Teldryn thought it was something about the way her voice shook just a little. 

Ceirin’s father had an expression that alternated somewhere between embarrassed, shy, and proud.

“You’re staying here, then? Not just for the winter, but….for good?” Ceirin managed to shake off his shock.

“Well, the invitation was originally just for your father. Elisif commissioned that piece for her coronation several years ago, and she liked it so well that she invited him to play for her court.

“She’s commissioned more work.” Arncurion interrupted, speaking more to his wife.

“I used to travel with him when he went on tours, you know, before you were born.” Nalarie continued, “When our questions about Elsirion started to get… it made as good an excuse as any for us both to get out without too much fuss.” 

“I’ve asked the Queen to grant us amnesty, and told her of the situation with your brother.” Arncurion spoke softly from his end of the table. “We plan to remain in the city until the baby is born. After that, it will depend on what we learn about your brother.”

“If he ….” Arncurion added, “Then perhaps Cyrodiil? It is awfully cold and dull here. And these people can’t really tell good music from that noise they play in their taverns anyhow.”

Ceirin heaved a sigh over that remark and gave his father a disappointed look.

They eased into the rhythm of talking and eating. The food was good, better than expected. Teldryn was beginning to think maybe the night wouldn’t be a complete waste of time when the conversation shifted.

“Have you given it any thought, Ceirin?” 

“What?” 

“Children? Auri-el knows no one in Alinor would contract with you, especially since you broke the last one. Do you have any idea what you put us through with that little stunt of yours, by the way? The legal fees alone…and she didn’t even conceive! But there must be some suitable women here? A lover isn’t respectable when you have yet to marry, and you’re not even trying to be subtle about it.”

Teldryn felt hot and then cold. He managed not to choke on his mouthful of food but it hurt to swallow against a throat that had gone tight. Next to him, Ceirin had gone completely still. 

_“Do not ever bring that up again.”_

There was a push beneath the words, the thu’um sliding in with his anger. The glasses and cutlery shook, the strength of it enough to vibrate through the table top. Ripples ran across the wine that stood in their glasses. The decanter cracked.

Both parents stared. His mother might have missed it when they had confronted her in Riften, but not this time.

“…What was…?” Nalarie was shaking her head. “You’ve never been able to manage any magic.”

“How did you do that?” Arncurion’s tone was more curious than alarmed. “Some sort of enchanted object or artifact, I suppose?”

Ceirin rubbed his hands over his face, his scowl fading with a string of muttered curses into fatigue.

“It doesn’t rely on magicka. I can kill dragons and Shout in their language. Dragon words have… effects. Not unlike spells.”

“Is this to do with whatever that idiot was blathering on about this afternoon?” Ceirin’s father demanded.

“…Yes.” Ceirin gave an edited version about being Dragonborn.

“Rubbish.” His mother declared at the same moment his father said, “Fascinating.” The glare she cast at her husband could have left a line of flames down the length of the table.

“Well, of course the dragon souls bit is rubbish. I just thought, what might a trained vocalist do with something like that?” Arncurion defended rather weakly. 

Nalarie scoffed.

“Kill their audience, most likely.” At his father’s puzzled frown, Ceirin added, “You’ve heard the story of how King Torygg died?”

Arncurion’s frown deepened as he mulled over that information. “Does the Dominion know of these dragon word effects?” 

“Yes.” Ceirin wisely did not mention the warrants out for his head or their current precarious alignment with a certain Justiciar.

“Is this why your brother was taken?” Nalarie turned to her son.

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Ceirin answered, so quiet he could scarcely be heard.

“Ceirindril, how many times must I tell you to be careful about who you anger? If your brother’s been hurt because of you…It’s bad enough that you go so far out of your way to shirk your responsibilities as an adult, but this?! We don’t deserve any of the problems you bring down on us!”

“I’ve never brought anything down on you! You choose to uphold a corrupt regime and then you blame me for refusing to play along like it’s all just fine? I never wanted him to get hurt! All I ever wanted was my own life! I’m glad you left, but you don’t get to show up in my life now and try to take away what I’ve built for myself.”

“The Thalmor have done more for us than you’ll ever know.” 

“Don’t upset your mother right now.” 

Ceirin looked ready to say something else, but whatever it was, he swallowed it back.

“Mom…they took him. This is what they are.”

“….. _I know._ ” The harsh whisper shook with emotion.

“I think it is time you left.”

A servant brought their coats. 

Ceirin and Teldryn hurried down the steps and out into the night; the sound of the door slamming behind them.

“I’m so sorry you had to sit through all that.” Ceirin scuffed his heels against the stone as they walked back to the Inn, arms around one another. The cold night air and a sight of the stars had helped settle them both after storming out.

“It’s not your fault.” Teldryn was quiet for a while. “Why are they so…?” 

“Because they never questioned things until now so they have a lot of changes to deal with.” He sighed. “I used to hate them.”

“Not anymore?”

“I still don’t like them but it’s more like I feel sorry for them. I don’t know if they’ve changed or I have.” 

Teldryn made a thoughtful sound. It wasn’t an excuse, but he’d let it go for tonight.

“And you get another little brother or sister.”

“Maybe.” 

At the spellsword’s questioning look, Ceirin explained.

“My mother hasn’t had the best luck with babies. So, not to sound like a pessimist, but I’ll wait and see. Besides, they’re not going to want me around. Bad influence and all.” 

Teldryn squeezed Ceirin’s waist a little, lending support. The rogue tried to brush off the disapproval, but it was clear to the spellsword in moments like this just how much it hurt him. 

Ceirin had told him at one point that he felt guilty for not having kept in contact with Elsirion; the one request of his parents’ that he had followed. _‘Don’t’ ruin your brother’s life the way you’re ruining yours.’_

Not that it would have changed anything about tonight. Time to change the subject.

“So...” The spellsword bumped his shoulder playfully against his taller lover’s ribs, knocking Ceirin off step and to one side. “What _do_ you think about having children?”

Ceirin tripped over a cobble in the street and twisted to gawk at Teldryn before determining that he was indeed serious.

“Ah…I don’t know? Someday, maybe? …Why?” The rogue turned shy. “What do you think about them?”

“I always thought I would have a family someday.” The spellsword shrugged. “Adopted, or maybe I’d end up with somebody who already had kids. It’s easier for you. You could just dump me for one of those high born altmer women like your mother wants you to.” 

Teldryn cringed the instant the words left his mouth. He hadn’t realized the full extent of his bitterness until it was too late. 

Ceirin stopped walking and stared at him.

“I’m sorry.” The spellsword rubbed a hand up through his growing-out hair and sighed. “I didn’t mean that…”

The tall rogue stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. “You know I wouldn’t do that, right? Please don’t let my parents get to you. They’re horrible.”

“I know. It’s not the first time I’ve been told I’m not good enough for someone I love. It just…cut deeper than I thought it had.” He pressed his nose into the altmers chest, breathing in the rich scent of the soap he’d used. A knot that had been forming inside his chest all during dinner loosened and he relaxed.

“Someone you love? Who’s that?” Ceirin teased, his voice muffled where his mouth was pressed against the side of the spellsword’s head.

Teldryn grumbled at the joke at first but then gave in and with a sigh, murmured three words in Dunmeris.

A moment later, the spellsword got three words murmured back in Altmeris.

Neither mer had to ask for a translation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long and ends with tooth rotting fluff.  
> As for C's folks- They're not great parents. I'm trying to show: 1. that they are not flat out evil or cruel people- they did the best they knew how (C wasn't exactly the most well behaved kid even w/o considering Thalmor standards) and 2. that they are in a process of maybe accepting some tough truths; about the Thalmor, about Ceirin. For a Nord or an Imperial family, there's that whole history of Emperors and heroes so it's a source of pride. But Altmer? Especially with Tiber Septim/Talos being one of the last supposed dragonborns on record....That has to be difficult for them. How exactly do you explain to your mom and dad that you have the soul of a dragon and that you can consume other dragon's souls? Plus, I think news from outside Summerset would be pretty censored, so who knows how much they heard about Alduin or the civil war or any of it while they were there. They'll never be a close family, but we'll see if they ever learn to tolerate each other....


	6. Killing Time

Autumn in Riften was gray and rainy, the bright leaves spiraling down in a cheery counterpoint to the weather. A soft blanket of cloud cover pulled down low over the mountains. Birds migrated through in droves. Animals scuffled through the falling leaves, storing food for winter. The lake turned to a dark leaden mirror, sullen and sometimes opaque with whitecaps. People bustled about; like the animals, they were readying for winter as well. 

The damage the dragon had done was being repaired. Workmen had come from nearby towns to help. The scent of fresh cut lumber permeated the streets, the clean color of new shingles, beams, and brick marking the lines between the old and the new. The sounds of hammering, sawing, and people shouting to one another as they worked, filled most of the daylight hours.

Teldryn was astonished at how much the residents had accomplished in the weeks they’d been gone.

The dragon attack might have wounded Riften, but it had not slowed it down much. Smokehouses were full, the market was busy, and craftsmen took orders for all kinds of things. Vendors stayed late, lanterns and torches casting a cheery glow over the customers. 

One such evening, the two mer arrived back at the house to find lights shining in their windows and smoke rising from the chimney. 

Hands to their weapons, they opened the door to find none other than Glover Mallory in their kitchen. He punched Teldryn in the arm as soon as their back slapping hugs and greetings had been exchanged.

“That’s for forgetting to write to let me know everyone wasn’t dead!”

“Wait, what?” Ceirin shook his head in confusion. “Why would we be…” 

“A merchant came in to Raven Rock not too long ago saying Riften had been wiped out by a dragon! I dropped everything …But, no, you’re all fine and I had a damned heart attack for nothing. And before you ask, Delvin doesn’t write and I’ve already punched him. ”

“Didn’t he write an entire book?” Ceirin countered, moving past Glover to drop his pack by the bed.

“He doesn’t write _to people_. Unless it’s for ‘legitimate business correspondence’.” Glover clarified, in a decent imitation of his brothers voice and making the quotation marks with his fingers.

 

“...Sorry.” Teldryn set his pack down and rubbed his arm. “We sort of got caught up in things. If I had known Delvin wouldn’t send you word, I would have.”

Glover mulled that over for a moment before nodding his acceptance.

“Hey, your hair’s different…and … _gods, what have you done to your armor?!_ ”

The spellsword cringed as he considered the state his chitin was in. Glover’s jaw tensed as though he was gnashing his teeth. 

“There was a dragon.” Ceirin reminded him, “And another dragon before that, and draugr, and some falmer…”

“About three bears, and those vampires …” Teldryn chimed in.

Ceirin was ready to list more, but Glover’s horrified expression said he’d heard enough. 

“Since you’re here…” Teldryn began. 

“I didn’t bring any tools, but I suppose I can try to talk someone through it.” The blacksmith rolled his eyes.

They helped with the rest of the food preparation and spent their dinner getting Glover caught up on events. By the end of it he was shaking his head. 

“Nothing good ever came from tangling with the Thalmor. I hope you find out what happened. My brother’s an ass but he’s pulled me out of a few scrapes, too. Family’s important.” 

“Speaking of which, I assume it was Delvin that let you in?”

“Yeah. He thought you’d be alright with me staying here a few days. It’s a nice place, too. Didn’t guess you’d be coming back so soon. But since you are, I should head to the Inn. I don’t want to put you out.” He directed the last comment to Teldryn.

“It’s fine.” Ceirin said at the same time Teldryn said, “You’re not.”

Frowning, Glover took another look around; at how closely they were sitting, at the pack Teldryn had dumped on the other side of the bed from Ceirin’s, and then back at them.

“....Wait. So…you are sleeping together? Bryn was trying to play it cute and drop hints but I just figured he was full of shit and trying to cause trouble, same as always.”

Turning to Ceirin, he asked, “You’re not still paying him, are you?”

“No!” Both mer yelled in unison. 

Teldryn bunched up a napkin and threw it at Glover, who dodged it, laughing.

The former thief helped to put the leftover food away and wash up the dishes. Just as he was handing a plate to Ceirin to put away, however, there was a hesitant knock and Teldryn opened the door to find Sapphire on the stoop.

“Oh. Shit. You’re home. I…” She spun around to leave.

Teldryn grabbed the back of her coat, pulled her into the house, and looked over at Ceirin. The altmer gave a faint nod. He turned to the blacksmith, who stood frozen like a deer caught in the torchlight.

“So, Glover? Remember when you let me into your house? Unsupervised?”

“…..I suspect that I’m about to regret that I did. Why?”

“Well… Igavehertheletterandsheknowseverything.”

“You… _meddling little shit._ ” The blacksmith managed to choke out in a hoarse whisper, eyes widened to something close to panic.

“We’ll be at the Inn.” Teldryn added with a jaunty wave as he and Ceirin ducked out the door and left them to talk.

“Do you think we handled that the right way?” Ceirin asked as they walked across the canal towards the Bee and Barb.

“Trust me, I know Glover. He was never going to tell her.”

“So was it you or me he called a meddling little shit?”

Hours passed as they spent the rest of the evening drinking at the Inn until Sapphire came by to collect them. She looked as if she had been crying, but her smile was genuine and she hugged both of them before heading back down to the Ratway. 

Over the next few days, Glover helped with Teldryn’s armor and spent time with his daughter and his brother. Both Delvin and Glover were sporting scraped knuckles and a few new bruises. Apparently, finding out he had a niece he’d never been told about, who had been living right under his nose, had given Delvin sufficient cause for some payback. Whatever fighting they had done, they didn’t hold grudges over it. 

Glover headed back to the island with a promise to visit more often. 

The two mer were grateful to have the house to themselves again. While the blacksmith’s visit had been a much needed spot of levity, they had a lot to do before winter and if word came down from Solitude that something had been found, they would need to leave in a rush. 

The rest of their armor, weapons, and travel gear were dropped off at the smithy in the morning. Then they shopped to stock up for winter.

Ceirin put in orders for all the food and supplies they would need. He gave advice to Teldryn about what he should consider for the months ahead. They sold off some smaller bits of treasure from the tombs they had explored. All strictly legal stuff, of course. They both got more new clothes. Nothing so fancy as the last time; these were things made of heavy cotton or wool, water proofed leather, or fur to hold up in cold weather.

The spellsword wondered how cold Riften would get. Solstheim had frigid extremes up in the mountains and along the unprotected northeastern coasts, but Raven Rock had been sheltered from the worst of it. Winter had meant less ash in the air since the prevailing northerly winds sent it back over the mainland. It had been bleak, but not unlivable. Windhelm had been worse some years.

They ended their day with caramel drenched apples, walking home, arms loaded with packages, licking the sticky residue off their fingers.

On clear days when the sun broke through and things dried out a bit, everyone in town took advantage of it to get outside. There were bonfires along the lake shore in the evenings, music, and apple picking.

Someone put together an archery contest that anyone in town could enter. Niruin won. He didn’t even need to cheat. Ceirin placed fourth. Teldryn, of course, didn’t enter. He had never learned to shoot, not since he had fire and ice he could hurl at a target. But no one set up a competition to do that; Nords and their superstitious aversion to magic. 

Fishermen mended nets and scraped down the hulls of their boats, plugging and tarring leaks or touching up paint before storing the vessels away for the year. 

Children raked up piles of leaves and jumped in them.

Teldryn used flame spells to burn their leaves, much to the consternation of their neighbors. He had convinced Ceirin that the ash would be good for the plants, so after it all cooled, they tilled it into the garden beds.

Hay bales were stacked up around the foundation for added insulation, including around the new chicken coop. Two of their three chickens had returned after the fire. The last bale got scattered over the garden after the plants were harvested. 

The drying racks in the cellar were filled and bundles of plants hung from the rafters. The rogue would have plenty of ingredients for his potions for the next few months.

Another day, they cleaned the whole house. Doors and windows were thrown open, exchanging dust for the scent of leaves and woods. They wrestled the rugs over the deck railing to beat the dirt out of them. Floors were swept and scrubbed and the hearth was cleared out. Windows were washed, scattering small rainbows over the floor. Laundry was done and hung out to dry. 

Winter clothing, bedding and other cold weather gear were brought down from the rafters and unpacked. 

Kindling and logs were split and stacked up. 

The last job was cleaning out the basement and the storage space over the stairs. It was a good thing too, because the orders Ceirin had put in started to arrive over the following days.

Conversation and laughter made the work go by faster. The work gave them something to focus on. 

Then came a day when there was nothing left to do but wait. Two days after that, the courier arrived.

The scouts had found something.


	7. Northwatch Keep

The old fort appeared, at first glance, to be deserted. 

It was in a tumble down state after having been abandoned and then forgotten for so many years. The grounds were quiet; no obvious signs of activity. There were no soldiers on the walls. There were no fresh tracks running up to the gate. Even the rickety dock and the dinghy left behind to rot on the shore had not seen use in years. 

A thin coating of powdery snow had fallen over all of it overnight, softening lines, and hushing the woods surrounding it.

At first glance, one might not notice the two dark robed guards standing, unmoving, in the shadows just inside the gate. They might think that the horse friezes set out in front to block the main entrance had been left behind, instead of placed there in more recent months. They might miss the thin curl of smoke that wound its way upwards through the flurries from one almost ruined chimney stack. 

Tullius’s scouts hadn’t missed any of it. 

The report had come back, and now, a week and half later Teldryn, Ceirin, Ondolemar, Legate Rikke, Hadvar, and a handful of Imperial soldiers, crouched in the leeway of low hill and went over the last minute details for their assault on Northwatch Keep .

“Past the main entrance, there is only one door into the Keep itself.” Hadvar continued, “A frontal assault will be difficult, and what they are prepared for.”

“Any idea what’s inside?” Rikke asked.

“We couldn’t get in. Too risky. But I recommend an indirect approach.” Hadvar traced a section on the roughly sketched blueprint of the fort. “There’s damage to the wall, back near this corner. One or two might slip in and take the guards by surprise.”

“That will only last until we go into the keep itself.” Teldryn pointed out the major flaw.

“Yes. But if we hit the main gate, we raise the alarm. We might never get in if they know we’re here. They could also kill any prisoners.”

“I need two of you to take out those guards.” Rikke looked over her soldiers.

“So who’s going in?”

In the end, Ceirin insisted, along with one other scout. Teldryn had to wait behind. His stealth ability was improving, but he was nowhere near being able to help in a situation like this.

The two figures moved down towards the shore and began their approach. The spellsword lost sight of them in the deepening shadows of evening. Training a spyglass on the gate, watching the deeper darkness where the guards stood, Teldryn held his breath. He thought he caught a flicker of movement in one corner, then nothing. 

Long tense moments past. 

“Is that them?” Ondolemar kept his voice low. 

Two figures exited the main gate and worked together to move aside the blockade of spiked logs. Then a figure waved the all clear.

They moved in to secure the small courtyard. It was quick. Quiet. Efficient. Rikke had picked her people well. Teldryn glanced over at the body of one of the Thalmor guards. Throat slit. Ceirin’s face was set in grim lines, his mouth pulled down at the corners and eyes tight, as he wiped his dagger off. 

Ondolemar checked both guards and shook his head; he did not know either of them. Whatever he thought about staging a raid on his own people, he remained as silent and as grim as Ceirin. 

They opted for a soft entry, Ceirin dropping to kneel and pick the lock on the heavy oak door. From here on out, he was in the lead, decades of thieving putting him ahead of even the Imperial scouts in terms of experience. They moved into the keep and down the halls. 

Rounding a corner, they had to contend with the first soldiers. Caught by surprise, the two reacted too late and died; one with a scout’s arrows in his throat, the other by Ondolemar’s spells. 

They kept pushing forward.

The next door opened onto a long shadowy hall that ended in a room lit warmly by torches. Screams and other sounds of pain echoed up the corridor, undercut by a calm voice speaking in quiet tones. The torturer, his ample collection of brutal tools, and the prisoner he’d been working on, were the rooms only occupants. 

Not so easily slain, this Thalmor fought back, crying out in alarm and firing off several spells before Teldryn’s blade slipped through his robes, his ribs, and dropped him to the floor with no fight or life left in him. 

The prisoner, a tall Nord with an overgrown beard and light ash blond hair tangled in an unkempt mess around his face, looked them over blearily from where he slumped in his restraints. 

One of the scouts found the keys and worked his manacles loose, then helped set the man on his feet.

“I never thought I’d see another friendly face again. Much less that I would be grateful for the sight of Imperial uniforms.” The Nord’s voice was rough from screaming. “There are others, further in. Hurry.” 

“Is there an altmer among them, a young male?” 

The prisoner squinted at him and nodded. “Aye. They brought that one in a while ago.”

Ceirin was off and running then, Teldryn right behind him. He had never seen the rogue in such a fury before. He cut down anyone in their path, Shouting down whole groups, until something about his very appearance began to change. ..to look … dragon like. 

Alarmed, the spellsword did all he could to keep up, and to keep some distance between Ceirin and the soldiers following. Just in case. He wasn’t the only one concerned. Both Hadvar’s pale features and Ondolemar’s gold green eyes, narrowed like an angry cats, followed the rogue’s progress through the building. 

The sound of booted feet running towards them from another hall had Rikke’s men lining up to defend.

Rooms and hallways where cleared one by one and secured as the Thalmor soldiers were slain. For all that the fighting was intense in such close quarters, it was weirdly quiet; all sounds cut off by the stone walls.

They came to the last hall, rows of dark cells down either side. The sour stench of unwashed bodies and filthy conditions choked them. Two cells were empty save for the stains of old blood and waste that would never wash out. In others, thin figures hunched or curled in rags, chained by arms or legs or both, on a thin moldy scattering of straw. 

“This is no jail.” Rikke spoke through clenched teeth. “What in Oblivion is this?”

Ondolemar’s stoic calm slipped, his thin lips twitching into a grimace of disgust as he observed the state of the prisoners. He shook his head. There was no answer he could give that would suffice. 

Ceirin’s hands shook as he worked with keys they had taken off the jailors body. They opened door after door, helping prisoners who could walk outside. The ones who couldn’t were carried. The Justiciar pressed himself flat to the wall, to avoid any contact, one sleeve up over his nose.

They found him in the last cell. A bony figure tucked as far into the corner as he could get. One ankle shackled him to the floor. Teldryn wondered why they had risked leaving a mages hands unchained, until he saw them.

Elsirion’s hands had been broken. Repeatedly.

The kid flinched back when Ceirin reached for him to get the ankle cuff off. The young mage began to kick and struggle, frantic to get away, despite having no place to go and being too weak to fight.

“Elsirion? Siri? Stop it. Look at me?” Ceirin backed off, tears in his eyes, and held up his hands until his brother calmed down enough to look at him. “I’m here to get you out.

“….Ceirin?...Run…”

“Come on, let me get this off of you.”

The instant he was free, he launched himself at Ceirin, clinging and shaking, eyes huge and dark in his too thin face. 

Ceirin gathered him up and together, they headed back out through the halls lined with Thalmor bodies.

For possibly the first time in his life, Teldryn saw the appeal of necromancy. It would have been all too satisfying to raise them up and kill them all over again. Hands clenched tight into fists, he stalked out after the brothers. 

No amount of fresh air was ever going to let him forget the stench of this place.


	8. Makeshift

They set up a makeshift camp outside the walls. The cold north breeze blew in off the ocean in fits and gusts to tease the snow flurries that drifted around them. Spare furs and blankets were pulled from the Keep along with any clothes and all of the food. The prisoners were malnourished and clearly showed the kind of injuries expected from long term torture and abuse. 

The scouts disappeared into the woods and returned with a deer to add more protein to the stores they had found. Preparations for a meal were set underway. Basic healing supplies were used to treat the prisoners first and then the few of Rikke’s men who had been injured during the fighting.

The sheer quantity of supplies in and around the fort proved the Dominion had been there for months, if not longer. Crates had had time to collect dust. Food and drink had been laid in store. They’d meant to winter over. 

What they did not find was documentation. Whoever had been running the place, they had not kept written records of anything. There were no orders. No letters. Not even so much as a shipping manifest.

Ondolemar had recorded description and taken bits of hair from each, to be used in identifying them later. Several he had recognized as having served at the Embassy.

When everyone was clear of the building, Ceirin handed Elsirion off to Teldryn and then he and Ondolemar went back inside. 

The Justiciar returned carrying a small crate filled with glass vials.

No sooner was he clear of the building, than the noise started. Cracks and booms, rumbles that shook the ground. Teldryn set the young mage down and rushed towards the door only to have the Commander stop him. 

“He will be along as soon as he is finished.” The tall mer’s face was pale beneath the sheen of perspiration. He looked as if he would say more, but instead he only clutched the crate so tightly that the leather of his gloves squeaked a bit and headed for the fire. 

Heads all over the camp turned as the fort began to collapse in on itself. The remains of the squat tower cracked and tumbled down over the wall. Blocks of stone split and crumbled. Flames and dust rose into the snowy air.

The door flew open, and Ceirin stumbled out, in full dragon aspect, turning to Shout into the hall he’d just left, collapsing the stone and rendering the last section of the fort to rubble. Gol. _Earth_.

He stood, weaving on his feet a little, steam rising off of him, until the dragon in him faded and he was himself once more.

_No wonder the Justiciar had looked so pale. Ceirin had been close to losing it._

Dirty and streaked with sweat, the rogue moved to Elsirion’s other side and the three of them ducked into their tent. 

“You destroyed it? Good.” Elsirion’s voice was weak from lack of use. “What…?”

“Even Ondolemar agreed.” The rogue’s voice was hoarse.

“Not that. You.” Elsirion squinted at his brother.

Ceirin sighed and explained.

“Is that why they want to kill you?”

“Maybe. Did they tell you that?”

“Yes. It was you they wanted. But they couldn’t. They wanted me to.”

Teldryn kept a watchful eye on Ceirin while he helped the rogue get his younger sibling fed, cleaned up, and settled into some warm bedding. Even Elsirion was taller; Ceirin’s spare clothes fell short at the wrists and ankles. 

Exhausted, the kid passed out almost the moment his head touched the pillow.

The spellsword took a moment to wrap his arms around his lover in reassurance. They spent a few moments leaning on eachother before heading over to rejoin the group.

The Nord was Thorald Greymane; a captured Stormcloak who should have been exchanged along with the others after the civil war had ended. He was doing his best to answer Legate Rikke’s questions, although his body language remained tense. 

They had also rescued a female Khajiit who either could not or would not speak, and an Imperial fellow whose name Teldryn had not heard, who now sat eating a bit. The Khajiit simply stared, fur slightly puffed and ears close to her head. Her eyes followed Ondolemar everywhere.

 _He should change out of those robes_ , Teldryn thought. Having the Justiciar with them felt like a mistake to him, again.

Once everyone had eaten and had some time to process what they had found, Rikke called another meeting. 

“The fort has been destroyed so no one can use it again.” She paused to nod to Ceirin in acknowledgement. “Now, does anyone have any idea as to what in Oblivion they were doing here?”

“I believe I can explain.” Ondolemar stepped forward and set the box of vials on the table in the center of the tent. “These are a variety of poisons and solutions common to interrogation when physical, er, techniques, are unsuitable.”

“They alter states of mind, create susceptibility and open a subject to suggestion. This particular set of mixtures is used for long term behavioral conditioning.”

“Combining that with high mortality rate among the prisoners, and that there is enough food, armor and weapons to supply more people than were stationed here, and I believe they were attempting to retrain these prisoners and coerce their loyalty.”

“You’re talking about spies. Brainwashed assassins.” Hadvar scowled.

Angry murmurs broke out and several murderous looks turned in the Justiciar’s direction.

Ondolemar folded his arms across his chest and inclined his head in a faint nod.

“It would certainly explain the effort they went to in order to keep this hidden.” One of the scouts spoke up.

“You should also know that the Dominion does _not_ support such practices.” Ondolemar’s tone was defensive. He was outnumbered here and he knew it.

“….If they were trying to train these people to be killers” Ceirin looked at the prisoners they had liberated. “How do we know if they were successful?”

Telryn remembered what Elsirion had said. _“They wanted me to.”_

“The short answer is; we don’t. In theory, an operative successfully trained this way will respond to specific command words or phrases spoken by their handler. Without that prompt, they should be no more dangerous than they were before.”

 _“In theory?”_ Ceirin’s voice resonated dangerously. He broke off, coughing.

“So…what do we do with them?” Teldryn felt a rising tide of helplessness turn his stomach into a cold pit of acid. Ceirin wasn’t going to allow anyone to lock his brother up again, dangerous or not. 

“It is not as hopeless as it sounds.” Ondolemar gestured for calm. “One must presume that had they been successful, that subject would have been released. Since none of these were, I think it is safe to say that they will be no danger in that regard.”

“We need to get them back to Solitude so they can be seen to by the healers.” Hadvar stepped in as the voice of reason. “Our folk have done all they can.”

“Agreed.” Rikke rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache.

“For someone who claims not to support this, you seem to know an awful lot about it.” Ceirin was staring at Ondolemar in that direct, dangerous way of his.

The Thalmor stared back, but the tightness was back around his eyes. Teldryn almost missed the quiet reply.

“We all know things that we wish we did not. It is how we choose to act on that knowledge that I believe to be important.” 

Ceirin’s chin lifted and the two altmer stared each other down. Teldryn, tired and not wanting any more trouble than they already had, tugged at Ceirin’s arm. 

After Legate Rikke dismissed them from the meeting, he and Ceirin headed back to their tent. They were both exhausted, in the way that had less to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the aftermath and the emotional toll taken in the last weeks leading up to this. Neither of them could sleep well that night, huddled on either side of their young charge. Elsirion tossed and whimpered in his sleep. 

It was going to be a long road back to Solitude come morning.


	9. There Are Always Dragons

They saw it before they heard it this time. A scout who had ridden ahead came galloping back, hair flying loose from her pony tail, to report that the road was clear except for a dragon that had been spotted circling the area. 

“Not again” Hadvar’s dismayed groan drew curious looks from his peers as an overlarge shadow passed by. 

“Sorry.” Ceirin murmured in an aside so Rikke and Ondolemar wouldn’t overhear.

“Perhaps we should not have been so hasty as to destroy the only shelter to be found around for miles.” The Justiciar gazed pointedly back over his shoulder in the direction of the smoking heap of rubble that yesterday had been a fort and then stared down his nose at Ceirin.

“Ride back through Helgen some time.” Hadvar snorted and shook his head. “Then tell me what a difference that would make.”

Ceirin brought his own chin up, mirroring the other altmer’s body language, before spurring his horse up closer to Rikke and the others. Some discussion was had about whether it would be better to stay or to take their chances out on the road. Ceirin and Teldryn both voted for the road. So did Hadvar and the scouts. 

“We’ll be able to move, to scatter, out in the open. Surround it, maybe. If we’re all together, it can take us out in one pass. And this weather isn’t getting any warmer.”

“You, perhaps. I can at least shield myself.” Ondolemar sniffed.

“Unless your ‘shield’ can cover the whole group, it’s useless. And I hate to tell you, but magic doesn’t bother them much.” Ceirin ignored the Justiciar as he continued, “Teldryn and I have taken out a few dragons in the past year. We’ll go ahead and try to draw it off.”

Legate Rikke saw the wisdom of this idea. “Scouts, keep me informed. Soldiers, guard the carriage. Keep it moving. ”

“I’ve always wanted to see a dragon. I just…thought I’d be…” Elsirion tried to hide his anxiety at his brother’s leaving. He raised his braced and wrapped hands in a self -evident gesture as Ceirin heaved their packs up into the cart by his brother’s feet. 

“Well, there are more around these days, so don’t be too eager. We’re not about to run out.”

After making sure Hadvar would keep an eye on the kid, they headed out in the direction the scouts had indicated. The dragon’s scream echoed through the woods. 

Behind them the wagons wheels creaked and rumbled to a start. It would be slow going and easy pickings for a hungry lizard.

Running through the woods, lungs burning, Teldryn felt the weight of the last few days begin to work itself out. Muscles warmed up and loosened. He kept his gaze up above the tree line, hoping to catch sight of their fresh target. _A dragon_. This he could handle. 

But the dragon didn’t show itself and they were forced to turn back and rejoin the others.

It had not flown off, however. An occasional scream, far enough to echo, but still too close for comfort. A shadow moving over them; too large and too fast to be a bird. And the general unease of being followed, which had spread to include the scouts. Hadvar kept flinching to check the skies behind them. 

They were being hunted.

The wagon made as much time as was possible through the wilderness and towards the roads that led to Solitude, with its high thick castle walls. Once they met those roads, the trees would fall away to the east and they would be exposed. Teldryn wondered what the dragon was waiting for.

For days it went on like that. The scouts were growing weary. Tempers were shortening. Ondolemar kept making snide remarks that only worsened everything. The Khajiit broke her silence by hissing at him. For an instant everyone had tensed, fearing what he might do, but Rikke dispelled the tension; laughing and thanking the cat for her common sense.

They were about a half a day from the road when a sudden rushing sound, one that had nothing to do with the breeze, set the treetops to swaying. The temperature dropped. And then the trunks just behind them froze solid before they exploded in a shower of splinters and ice.

The horses took off, spurred by the soldiers driving. With defenseless and injured people in their charge, the best tactic was to run. If they could make the road by night, they would have a faster path back to the city.

As the ice and snow settled, Ceirin and Teldryn were already moving to flank. The dragon might have used the trees to slow their progress, but they slowed the dragon as well. Unable to maneuver as readily, it opened its jaws and sent a second gout of icy breath as Teldryn’s flame atronach cruised around the frozen trunks towards it. 

A fireball, launched from behind them, struck the dragon on the jaw. 

The two mer exchanged an incredulous look as they realized Ondolemar had opted to follow them into the fray rather than go with the wagon. _This might be a little too interesting_. On the other hand, Altmer had a high reputation for magicka and the Thalmor was prone to bragging…Whenever else would Teldryn get to see one in action to determine whether or not they lived up to their own hype? Strictly a professional curiousity, of course.

The Justiciar proved to be a canny fighter. He had a good sense of timing, striking just when it would make the most difference. More importantly, he knew to stay out of their way. Teldryn was forced to admit the extra fire spells were useful. 

Ceirin shouted flames at it and then rushed in with an upward cut, forcing it to rear its head back. Realizing the danger of its situation, the dragon gave several powerful sweeps of its wings and it lifted itself into the air once more.

It circled them once, but after a lightning bolt from the Justiciar and a few more firebolts from Teldryn, it winged its way off beyond the trees.

Ceirin shaded his eyes and watched until it was out of sight.

“We should regroup. I don’t want it going after the wagon.”

“You think it will return?” The Justiciar frowned at the disturbed earth and snow, where a few drops of blood and a scattering of smaller scales marked the battle. “It was injured.”

“They can be touchy about being defeated.”

They hiked back the way they had come, following the wagons trail.


	10. The Road to Solitude

They met up with one of the scouts just as it was getting dark. Not that the trail left by the cart was hard to follow.

“Came back to check and see if you lot had been frozen solid yet.” 

Teldryn gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering and glared. Once they had slowed to a walk, the sweat beneath his armor had turned clammy. Combined with the drop in temperature towards nightfall and he was feeling the chill more so than usual. Both altmer had been quiet; stilted attempts at conversation dropping off altogether along the way. It would be good to regroup and maybe get a fire going.

The dragon had not been seen or heard since it had flown off, but that was no reassurance to the spellsword. With the sky clouding over and more flurries coming down, it would have plenty of cover. 

As it stood, when they did rejoin the group, the idea of a fire was vetoed in favor of pushing through the night and possibly stopping for a bit come morning. One of the former prisoners had taken a fever and the rest weren’t holding up much better. Rikke didn’t say as much, but the concern was clear; that if they waited, they might be bringing back corpses.

The night wore on in sullen silence. People slept fitfully in shifts on the cart; bundled in the back or leaning haphazardly against the driver. Ceirin jogged alongside where his brother rode, talking to help keep the youth distracted from his pain and himself from fatigue. 

Ondolemar kept looking over as though he wanted to ask a question, but remained aloof. Teldryn guessed it was more about dragons. He’d been vocal about the topic just after the fight, asking all kinds of things. Which was only normal if one had just witnessed an altmer breath fire. Teldryn could well recall his own shock the first time he’d seen it. But Ceirin had been less than forthcoming about his abilities and after a time the Justiciar had given up. 

Sure enough, once the sun had come up and they had stopped to set up a brief camp, the Justiciar dropped to sit next to them as they ate. After checking around to see that the others were busy, he turned to Ceirin.

“It occurs to me that I do not know the circumstances of your leaving Alinor.”

Ceirin continued to chew his food and gave no answer.

The Justiciar sighed and shook his head.

“You are no doubt aware that if the Dominion truly wanted the information, we would have it?”

Ceirin set his spoon down. Teldryn and Elsirion exchanged a look and Teldryn shifted slightly to better position himself to block in case this turned to blows.

“I’ve been aware for some time of just what the Thalmor are willing to do to get what they want.” Ceirin answered pointedly.

“I am merely attempting to make conversation. You needn’t be so difficult.” 

“You’ve never had a conversation. Conversation implies an equal exchange. It does not start with personal demands and follow up with threats. We’re hours out from one of the worst atrocities committed by the Thalmor since the Great War and you think I should be ingratiating myself to you? It’s sentiment such as _that_ which made me want to leave in the first place.”

“What was done here was deplorable, it’s true. But you fail to understand the necessity. As superior mer, we have the responsibility to-”

Ceirin snarled something in Altmeris that sent the elder mers brows up into his hood. Teldryn couldn’t translate it, and when he glanced to Elsirion for help, the younger mer was looking away, hunched in his blankets, expression more miserable than he had been already.

Teldryn debated the risks of jumping in to the conversation without knowing what had just been said but just then the call came to pack up, as they were heading out again, so he was spared the decision.

One of the scouts went on ahead to alert the city guards to their arrival. 

Hadvar dropped back to chat with Ceirin for a while. Teldryn wasn’t predisposed to like or trust anyone representing Cyrodiil’s Empire, but upon learning that the Nord was the same one who had survived Helgen along with Ceirin, he felt he could make an exception. 

There was still no sign of the dragon. 

They made it through the gates just after noon to a rush of activity from the guards and the healers. The cart was rolled into the castle courtyard where the rescued prisoners were offloaded and set up in the infirmary. The healers set to work. Ceirin had to help hold his brother while they rebroke the bones in his hands so they could be set properly. The boys pained sounds, while less than what he had expected, grated on Teldryn’s already frayed nerves. _Tough kid_. Feeling too much a stranger and in the way, he wandered out to the courtyard to wait.

The sun was setting when the rogue found him, practicing sword drills against a spare training dummy he’d found. 

“I’m sorry that took so long. They gave him something so he’d sleep. Then Tullius wanted to hear what had happened. So I’ve been stuck talking to him for the last few hours. Contrary to the name, there’s nothing brief about a debriefing.” 

“Now what?” Teldryn groaned at the weak joke.

He wanted to go home to Riften. He wanted to get drunk. To punch something. Or someone. Ondolemar came to mind. To drag Ceirin to bed. Something, anything to get past all the tension and misery. But the semi- public courtyard of the largest castle in Skyrim, surrounded by Imperial soldiers and support staff, was very much not the place for any of those things. 

And they couldn’t go home, not yet. 

Ceirin sighed.

“Now, we go talk to my parents.”

“I’d rather go out looking for that dragon again.”

“Me, too.” 

In the end, they didn’t need to look very far. Both parents were hovering like upset hornets in the infirmary’s waiting room, demanding that they be allowed to take Elsirion home. It took some convincing but once they had been allowed to see him and understood he’d be allowed to leave as soon as he was awake and able to move about without further risk, then they relented and allowed themselves to be escorted back to the house. 

Ceirin did all the talking. 

Teldryn was grateful. The last thing he needed was to have to suffer those two again. He spent the entire walk gazing around and into the distance.

The skies, however cloudy, remained stubbornly free of dragons.


	11. Burning Bridges

Nalarie put her hands down on the railing. When she spoke her voice sounded as if it would break.

“He doesn’t want to see you. It will only upset him. He needs to rest.”

“I do want to see him, I’m just tired. It’s not Ceirin’s fault.” Elsirion, having overheard, had appeared behind them in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “They were trying to kill him!”

Draped in too- big pajamas and a heavy woolen robe, the kid still looked to Teldryn as though he might fall over or fade into nothing. Although his hands, now balled into weak fists, looked better and he had some color back in his face. Even with his shoulders hunched beneath the oversized layers, he was still almost as tall as his father. He might even be taller by the time he finished growing.

It was five days later and they were having the same argument they’d had each time they had visited, this time out on the private balcony overlooking the sea. Dark gray surf crashed in against the cliffs below, under an equally gray sky. The occasional cry of a gull punctuated their words, the harsh sound contrasting with the warm scents of wood smoke and of something baking coming from deeper inside the house. 

The weather was perfectly suited to the impotent anger and grief Teldryn felt having to listen to this nonsense yet again. Having their favored son returned to them had turned both parents into overprotective nightmares. Their gratitude towards Ceirin had been short lived. 

“This is for your own good, son. You’re still healing.” Arncurion put what was meant to be a soothing hand on Elsirion’s shoulder but it was shrugged off. “Let us handle this.”

“Why you insist on acting out, I will never understand.” Nalarie hugged herself against a chill breeze and pulled her shawl in closer about her shoulders as she glared at Ceirin.

“Wanting to visit my own brother is not ‘acting out’. Neither is disagreeing with your political views. Or your parenting.” The rogue patiently repeated himself.

“And the stealing? That gang you joined? The arrests? The marriage you ran out on? For Aedras sake, Ceirin, you taught him to pick locks when he was _four_! No responsible older brother does that! Yet you have the gall to suggest that we are bad parents?” 

“I was never in a gang, Father.”

“It might as well have been.” Arncurion scoffed. “And you did get arrested.” 

“How many times are you going to bring all that up?” 

“Are you still getting into legal trouble?”

Ceirin remained obstinately silent.

“What is wrong with you?” Arncurion shook his head.

“Apparently, it’s that I can’t _and won’t_ meet your idea of what a son of yours should be like. Just admit you hate me and I was never anything but a disappointment so its all out in the open. Then maybe we could skip some of these fights every time we see each other.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t hate you. You had everything you ever wanted when you were growing up!”

“You think that buying somebody things is the same as loving them? That almost makes your support of the Thalmor make sense. Appearance over actuality. _Every. Damned. Time._ You treat me like everything I do is wrong and Siri like he can’t do anything wrong. But you don't _listen_ to either of us. ”

“You ungrateful…”

“Elsirion gets good grades. He has no disciplinary actions.” Nalarie cut in. “He has _never_ put this family in danger.”

Ceirin took a deep breath to continue, but it was Elsirion who spoke up from where he was sitting on the steps. 

“Ceirin’s right. You always talk about how important family is. But you don’t believe that or you’d love him, too, and not just me. And I would have disciplinary actions if people didn’t ignore what I do. I used a fireball spell to blow up the toilets at school for a prank last year. I got an extra writing assignment as punishment. I should have been suspended. You think I don’t notice it?” 

Ceirin was staring at his younger sibling with something like astonishment. So were their parents. Teldryn guessed the younger mer didn’t generally speak up in these arguments.

“Elsirion, go up to your room. Get some rest. This isn’t good for you. The maid can bring you up some of those cookies later.” Nalarie smiled sadly at her youngest before looking back out across the water.

“You’re kicking him out, but I get milk and cookies? This is exactly what we’re talking about. No wonder neither of us act the way you want. He was right about the Thalmor, too, wasn’t he?” Elsirion looked ready to argue some more but Ceirin made a subtle shooing motion at him behind their father’s back. Still easily fatigued, the fight went out of him. With a worried backward glance, he slunk back up to his room without further prompting.

“I’m sorry I can’t be the son you want.” Ceirin’s tone was flat. “I’m still going to try and help get Elenwen recalled. You need to decide what you’re going to do. But please don’t pretend the Thalmor have ‘the best interests of the Altmer people’ in mind anymore. And stop treating Siri like he can’t think for himself. He’s almost an adult, and he’s survived more than most.”

Arncurion stepped over to his wife and reached down to hold her hand. They exchanged a look that struck Teldryn as being one of grief. But he couldn’t figure out why until….

“Ceirindril, you are no longer welcome in our home. We will not have your disrespect and poor decisions risking this family anymore.” Arncurion’s tone was final. 

“You are no longer our son.”

This time, when the door slammed behind them, Teldryn heard the lock click.  
Ceirin stood in the street and stared up at the windows, looking for Elsirion, wanting to at least say goodbye this time. But the house remained dark and quiet.

After a long moment, Teldryn pulled him away.

It was time to go home.


	12. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a rough week here in the US. But, I managed to get some writing done before the political poo hit the fan. So, have an extra chapter this week, and stay safe- wherever you are.

They celebrated Teldryn’s birthday with a quiet dinner in a tavern neither of them had ever been to before. It was in some small farming homestead, barely a town; Rorikstead or some such. The place was simple but clean and offered a home brewed ale and good food. The spellsword suspected the vegetables had probably still been in the ground earlier that same day to be so fresh.

They sat close to each other and to the fire as they carefully avoided talking about the last few weeks. Teldryn found himself feeling homesick, as he often did around this time of year.

“I wish my folks were still around. I’d drag you off to Blacklight so they could smother you in attention. My dad always used to cook this amazing kwama egg stew for my birthday…I can never get the seasonings right.”

“You think they would’ve…?” Ceirin broke off what he had been about to say and glanced away. 

The unfinished question of acceptance made something in the spellswords chest ache.

“Sure. Well…the Altmer part might have been a surprise. And the thief part…and the dragonborn part. But they would’ve liked you.” 

The rogue smiled; it wasn’t wholehearted, but at least it warmed his eyes. The first genuine smile Teldryn had seen from him in weeks. 

“Maybe we can research and test some kwama egg recipes over the winter.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

Ceirin also promised him that he had a gift once they were back at the house, but wouldn’t tell him what it was even though it would be days before they got home. 

Teldryn tried guessing but that just ended with the two of them laughing into their drinks like idiots as his guesses became wilder and more inappropriate until the innkeeper’s scowl told them it was probably time to head up to their room. While it was still early, neither mer had a problem with this.

The rest of their journey back to Riften was uneventful. The house was empty and the streets were busy. The leaves were down, the sky gray. 

They got in, got a fire going, and Teldryn got to unwrap his gift which turned out to be a pair of snow shoes.

Ceirin had gone quiet again after Rorikstead. The full weight of events had finally caught up to him. 

Sometime that afternoon, while they were unpacking, he dumped his things on the floor and toppled face first onto their bed. 

He didn’t eat, when Teldryn made a spicy beef and vegetable dish for supper, just grumbled something muffled into the blankets by way of refusal. He didn’t answer the door when Vex came knocking to see how things had gone. 

Teldryn checked back over his shoulder to see if the altmer would stir himself, but when nothing changed, he motioned for the guild’s current second in command to join him outside. He shut the door behind them.

“The kid’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. 

“No. He’s in bad shape, but he’s alive.”

“Then, why….?” She gestured towards the house.

“They only went after his brother after their attempts on him failed. It didn’t occur to him that his family might be in danger.”

“They picked the easier target.” Vex scowled. “Cowards. The kid going to be alright?”

Teldryn paused, long enough that the thief’s head came back up and her brows drew together.

“We don’t know.” The spellsword decided on honesty. “They tortured him; broke his hands. The healers reset the bones but they’re not sure how well he’ll be able to cast again. He’ll always have pain…and that’s just the physical damage. That place…nightmare doesn’t even begin to cover it and I was only there for the time it took to clear it out.” 

Vex shuddered; thieves worked with their hands, too.

“Why come back then? Shouldn’t Ceirin be with-”

Teldryn cut her off with shake of his head.

“They’ve disowned him.”

“Son of a-” Vex raised one fist and then faltered; the frustrated motion of wanting to punch something but lacking a valid target. Teldryn could well relate to that feeling… “I knew that woman would be trouble. Well, good riddance. And…let him know things are fine here. Bryn bitches and moans but we’re doing ok. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

She turned and headed off towards the gate, not the ratway. Apparently, she was going out on a job.

Ceirin stayed in bed for several days. At first, Teldryn thought he would come around on his own after a good night’s sleep. But after the third day without any food and barely any water, the spellsword decided something needed to be done.

He yanked the blankets off and demanded that Ceirin at least take a bath. When yelling failed, a few mild ice spells aimed at the altmer’s bare feet had Ceirin scrambling into motion.

The spellsword swallowed his guilt and headed out to the market to get the errands done.

When he got back, Ceirin was in the kitchen scooping batter into a pan; the kind that resulted in a crumbly coarse bread best made with cheese and chopped vegetables mixed in. He had batter smeared on the front of his shirt. His damp and hastily tied back hair was a mess, loose ends shoved behind his ears, and there were still bruise colored shadows beneath his eyes. He was standing, barefoot, in and around splatters of the stuff, as well a few small vegetable pieces and cheese shreds that had escaped by tumbling to the floor during the chopping process. 

The spellsword watched him from the doorway, his throat tight with too many things to say. Watched the motion of Ceirin’s hands as they flexed and turned the handle of the spoon to coax and scrape the last dregs of batter out. Watched the way the pale light streaming through the window touched his face. Watched until the moment when Ceirin realized he was being watched and looked over at him.

“You’re home. Sorry, I meant to have this cooking by the time you got back.” 

“It’s fine.” He strode across the room and pulled the altmer down into a deep kiss.

_It was good to be home._


	13. A Quiet Day Earned

“What is all this?” Teldryn was careful to hold his steaming cup of coffee away from the table as he leaned over Ceirin’s shoulder for a closer look.

“It’s just some sketches I’ve been meaning to get to. I was going through that old trunk to see if I had anything else I needed to take the pawn shop later and I found this pack of art paper I’d forgotten I’d ordered.”

“So…” Teldryn took in the details. Each sketch had a similar set up. Stem, leaves, flowers; everything was labeled in Ceirin’s formal, loopy cursive. A small side bit showed an enlargement of what the seed heads looked like. And all with just a bit of charcoal and some paper. 

Well, he knew Ceirin’s hands were steady and trained for precision. Thieving tended to do that. The spellsword preferred this kind of art. 

“…That’s nightshade, right?” 

Ceirin nodded without looking up and used his thumbnail to scratch the lighter veins across a dark shaded petal.

“This one looks like…I can’t remember the name. We don’t have it in Morrowind but it seems to grow all over the farm fields here?”

“Thistle.” 

“Yeah. These are really good.”

“Thanks. When I have time later, I’ll color them. And I’d like to get another sample of that grass next time we go hiking. The seeds keep falling off before I can draw it properly.”

There was a pause. Ceirin settled back and wiped the charcoal off his hands with a rag before turning his attention to the mug of coffee being offered. They drank without talking for a while, the aroma somehow complimenting the sound of the rain spattering on the window panes and the quiet popping of sparks in the fireplace. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder rumbled. 

Teldryn sat in the other chair and stretched his thickly wool- socked feet out closer to the fire. The chill, wet fall weather was perfectly suited to spending quiet, cozy days indoors like this. After all, they had earned it. 

Ceirin watched him over the rim of his mug for a bit.

“What?” the rogue asked after a few minutes.

“What do you mean, what?” Teldryn cocked an eyebrow at him before glancing away.

“Well, you brought my coffee and then you sort of hovered. Now you’re chewing on the inside of your lip like you do when you’re thinking hard about something but you’re not sure you want to say it. So..what?”

The spellsword squirmed a bit before sighing and relenting.

“I’ve been thinking about writing a book.” He confessed.

“About what?” 

“Well….this. The traveling, the ruins, all the things we fight. Maybe some of the more important places we’ve found. And somebody has to get you right, for history’s sake. I don’t trust those Solitude bard types as far as I can throw them.” 

Ceirin threw his head back laughing until he was in danger of slopping his coffee. 

“I wasn’t aware you harbored such anti-bard sentiments. But, in all seriousness, I think you should do it.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I trust you to come up with a good balance of what’s interesting and what maybe shouldn’t be publicized. Speaking of which, you could ask Delvin. He got published, he might be able to give you some advice.”

“Sure. Ah, but what I was wondering was, it’s alright if not, but… maybe you could draw some stuff? For some illustrations.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe some landscapes, like areas we’ve camped. Ruins. Definitely at least one dragon…”

They spent the rest of the morning drinking their coffee and talking about Teldryn’s book ideas. The rain did not let up and Ceirin did not get to the pawn shop and neither of those thing mattered in the slightest. They had earned some downtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to work in some short answer ficlets I wrote for tumblr prompts that don't really fit anywhere on their own...Teldryn needed some kind of over-the-winter- project. Ceirin has his plants and alchemy stuff, so this seemed to solve that. I think it works alright. Short chapter was short, but not to worry, there is action and suspense coming up!
> 
> Initial prompt was: Given a pencil and a blank sheet of paper and nothing else to do, what does your oc do? Here's a link to the answer if you want to see the rest of it...  
> http://caffeinatedmusing.tumblr.com/post/147978034388/7-19-and-22-for-ceirin


	14. Trivial Pursuit

Vex spurred her horse onward, risking a backward glance, her hair wind- whipped across her face. _Three riders; coming up quicker than she’d like._ Turning to face ahead gain, she gripped the reins and leaned in lower over her mounts neck as another spell sizzled past, leaving the hot reek of energy in its wake.

The road was rough, fall rains having turned it to mud for weeks, easily victimized before drying by the wheels of heavy carts and horse shoes that came after. Footing was treacherous and some of the turns coming up were tight. It made her a difficult target but it also meant she needed to keep her attention on her escape.

If they got any closer, she might have to consider going off road. It was that or ditch her take. Assuming that would even stop them. The sack of coins and gems tied at her belt would be an awful loss and one the best infiltrator in the Thieves Guild wasn’t ready to make. And there was the sealed scroll tucked inside her jacket…Which was apparently worth some trouble, if her pursuers were any indication.

Dark robes flying, the Thalmor Justiciar who’d started on her trail just outside of Whiterun kicked his horse harder and began gaining. 

_Well_ , Vex thought, _it served her right didn’t it?_ She had known the risk and done it anyway.

On the way down from Dragonsreach, having snuck into the court mages quarters to lift a certain item for one of Delvin’s buyers, she had stopped for dinner and a drink at the tavern before the long ride back. She’d been perfectly happy minding her own business when those snobs had walked in. 

Oblivious to the glares directed at them from the local patrons, they had ordered their food and wine. They’d been rude. One had threatened the serving girl. Vex had felt rage rise to choke her as she’d watched thru narrowed eyes, her face a mask of disinterest.

So on her way out, when she had run into the last of their little group hanging around the stables guarding their horses, well, it was an opportunity to humble the bigoted idiots. 

The shadows had been in her favor as she had helped herself to the contents of their saddle bags.

But apparently, it had been noticed sooner than she would have hoped.

Another spell shot past, startling the horse. Three against one weren’t great odds to begin with but with at least one mage involved, the scales were tipped decidedly in her pursuers favor. She needed to change that. She needed to disappear.

Scowling, Vex tugged the reins and the horse obliged, turning to plunge off the road and into the underbrush. The terrain might help her lose them, or at least find a defensible spot to weed them out. There was no way she was leading them back to Riften.

It was time for her to demonstrate to her followers the real art of being a thief; the getaway.


	15. Bad for Business

The door to the ratway banged shut with a force that swirled the dried leaves up into small maelstroms until they scattered away again and resettled in the corners, restless. The torches guttered, lurching shadows against the walls. Vex stormed through the halls, her glare dark enough to send the vagrants who lived in the overflow tunnels scattering out of her way, eyes downcast. Those who didn’t move fast enough got shoved.

In the Ragged Flagon, Delvin took one look at the storm bearing down on him in human form and snapped his mouth shut, smart retort caught, for once, behind his teeth. 

Brynjolf was scribbling in the ledger when she made her way across the cistern to his desk and slammed her take down before digging out the scroll she’d taken and offered it out.

“We have a problem.”

He took the scroll and took in the state of her, frown deepening as he did so. Her arm and shoulder were singed and raw looking beneath the hole something had burned through her leather jacket. Flushed and wind chapped, hair a mess. There were scratches on her face. Not from a weapon or fingernails… branches. She’d ridden back hard, then, and not on the road. He turned the scroll over in his hands. She had broken the seal. 

“….what is…?” Brynjolf scanned the orders on the parchment and felt himself go cold all over. “Where did you get this?!”

“Off a Thalmor scum in Whiterun. Bastards chased me all the way up the north road but I lost them near the hotsprings before I doubled back. Killed one of them.”

“You were followed? Vipir, Tonilia, Sapphire! I need you three street level tonight. Make sure Maul knows to keep an eye out. We might be expecting company of the robed variety. Keep it quiet. We don’t need this getting to Mjoll.”

The three thieves nodded, grabbed up weapons and gear, and headed out. Ever since Maven had fled and Mjoll had taken over, they could no longer rely on any sort of deals or advance warnings from the Jarl or the guards.  
“And get Ceirin down here!” He yelled at their backs. “To Oblivion with it all. I need to hear what he thinks about this.”

“I need a damned drink. You want one?” Vex sighed and heaved back to her feet from where she’d been leaning on the edge of the desk.

“Aye. It’s shaping up to be that kind of night, isn’t it?” Bryn sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. It reminded him… “And Vex? Comb your hair, you’ve got half a tree stuck in there.” 

She flicked him a rude gesture as she headed back toward the bar.

“Hey.” Ceirin and Bryn found her later where she sat with her hands wrapped around a mug of warm mulled mead.

“The job was done. I could have kept my head down and come straight back, no problem.” She looked up at them. “Now I’ve stepped in it. What was I thinking? Just tell me I haven’t buggered us all over this.”

The altmer drew up a chair next to her. “Somebody’s definitely buggered over this. I just…I have no idea who. Besides the obvious. I don’t know who you took this from or who it was going to.”

Brynjolf pressed the cool bottle of ale Vekel handed him to his forehead for a moment before swearing and slumping into the chair opposite Vex.

“What do we do with it?” He took a swig, his gaze still fixed somewhere distant. “That’s all that matters now.”

“I’m not convinced there’s anything to do. At least, not here.” Ceirin said after long pause.

“Are you mad? This is exactly the sort of trouble we were trying to stay out of!”

The argument that might have started at that died off as Teldryn pulled up a chair and joined them.

“What have I missed?”

Ceirin handed him the scroll.

Vex stared as the two mer exchanged a look. A significant and somewhat unsurprised look.

“You knew about this?”

“No. But the topic of assassination has come up recently.”

“How do we fix it?” Vex interrupted.

“You don’t. Hear me out.” He added when he saw their expressions.

“First, whoever you got this from isn’t going to be too eager to admit the theft. Even assuming they knew what they were carrying, which they maybe didn’t.”

“You don’t think they’ll come after us?”

“Oh, they’ll have to try. They might use a third party since you’ve seen them, and they’d stand out here.”

“Good point.” Vex nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

Brynjolf nodded and then cut in. “Ceirin, I know what we agreed, but this is too big for me to decide alone. You have contacts in the Empire? Someone you could get this to...?” 

“Maybe.” The tall mer took the scroll.

“We’re going back to Solitude, aren’t we.” The spellsword wasn’t really asking a question.

“Is there a better option?” Ceirin looked back and forth between the three of them.

Brynjolf stared at the floor where he was scuffing his boot across a rough spot on the planks. He shook his head. 

“Not that I know of. The alternative is…”

“…We could…do nothing. Wait and see?” Teldryn shrugged.

“I don’t know.” Ceirin sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Feels wrong. What we learned at Northwatch and now an assassination plot against Titus Mede II, the same Emperor who signed the White Gold Concordat? Who has no heir? No, I think it’s connected. ”

Teldryn frowned and chewed at a rough patch on the edge of his thumbnail for a moment while he thought about it some more.

“Out of sheer curiosity, what happens if he dies?”

“Officially?” Vex made a face at the now tepid dregs of her drink. “The Elder Council rules until they can decide on a new Emperor. Beauracratic process at its finest. Unofficially? It’s a frenzy of backstabbing, bribes, bloodlines, and sometimes civil war. Winner takes all.”

“Which would create a very opportune moment, if someone were interested in striking.” Brynjolf finished.

“I never took you for caring much who ruled Skyrim, much less a supporter of the Empire.” Teldryn shifted his shoulders and glanced at the thieves.

“Oh, we’re not, but this…? I know the Dunmer have no love for the Empire, but chaos is bad for business.” He signaled to Vekel for another ale.

“You mentioned Solitude. You’re going to turn this in to them?”

“Tulius will have the resources to deal with it, or he’ll know who to hand it off to. ”

“We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Shadows keep you and speed your way. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too.”

Their conversation trailed off as the fresh round of drinks was set down. Vekel headed off to other tables; it was getting busy. Vex declined another drink, excusing herself instead to seek out a hot bath. 

Back up at street level, Ceirin ducked out of the way of a crowd of folks heading towards the Inn. The lanterns around the city were lit already, the sun going down earlier every night. 

“Say it. You think I’m meddling.” He stated once the crowd had passed and they were more or less alone again.

“I don’t. Well, maybe a little. I mean, why does this always have to land on you?”

“I never believed in fate, before this whole Dragonborn crap started. Now…I don’t know. I still want to argue against it, but stuff like this just… keeps _happening_. You don’t think…I mean, Hermaeus Mora…”

“Still worried about that? I thought that wizard said you were fine? What if you just said no…or…” Teldryn heaved a sigh. “You’re not Mora’s plaything, you know? They can’t force you, just trick you.”

“I know. Going back to Solitude is an inconvenience, at best. But, fate or not, I don’t want to know what happens if I don’t. You can always stay here.”

“You know I won’t.” Teldryn looked out over the wharves and docks to where the last hint of the already- set sun glowed on the water. “I’m not letting you sleep in the cold by yourself.”

“It’ll just be in and gone this time. We drop that scroll off, and we leave. We’ll be back before the snows get started. Alright?”

“Sure. Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, slowly I'm getting plot points to line up. Writers block sucks.


	16. Truth Will Out

Arncurion climbed the stairway with a slow tread. In his hands were the papers his students had turned into him for grading tonight. But his eyes were unfocused, his mind still on the conversation he had had that evening with Headmaster Viarmo, a fellow altmer, although one altogether given over to the flair of the stage and long gone out from the Summerset Isles. His accent was nearly as local now as his appearance.

Viarmo had asked for a meeting after his last class. Considering how new a teacher he was, his position uncertain, Arncurion had curbed his nerves and behaved as a subordinate should. He had to remind himself that gone were the days when he could have bought sold the other mer’s job out from under him at a word. And this so- called ‘college’ too. 

As it turned out the Headmaster had wanted his opinion on a song he had written to mark the upcoming anniversary of the World Eaters defeat by the Dragonborn. As one composer to another.

It had been so long since he had had someone to discuss music with in depth that Arncurion quite forgot himself and relaxed, comparing influences and sharing anecdotes and even a drink. Then Viarmo had handed him the sheets of music.

It had taken Arncurion long moments of reading the carefully composed stanzas to decipher that the ballad was, in fact, about _his son_. Traveling to the realm that housed the Nord’s dead souls for a final epic battle against the Eater of Worlds, firstborn of Akatosh. 

It had been a shock in several senses. First, that Viarmo knew full well and had set him up accordingly, a level of deviousness and dramatic reveal he had not anticipated from the mer, who had sat back in his leather armchair and observed his response. And of course, that it made this whole dragon business of Ceirindril’s sound as if….

 _Alduin the World Eater….accompanied by those Heroes of the ancient Dragon Wars. Elder scroll in hand. Souls consumed. The End of all things_ …. if left unchecked. Except that Ceirindril had stopped it. 

He had finished reading and then set the pages down carefully in order back on the desk.

“Well, naturally the rhyming convention works out. The tempo seems a bit rushed, though.”

“Ah, rushed. Yes, I thought it might. I will add a few dramatic pauses for effect. Maybe a bit more percussion. Was there anything else?” 

So they were playing this game, were they?

“Is…is it…” Arncurion steeled himself before he committed the amateurs blunder of asking if it were true. “How terrible was this? Surely it will not compare to the songs written about the Oblivion Crisis.”

He spoke nothing of his own memories.

“Only by sheer dint of timing.” Viarmo sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Had we been able to seal the Gates straight away, much would have been saved and yet our ballads might have seemed diminished by comparison. Your son got to Alduin before it went so far and somehow he prevailed, though not without sacrifice. There are survivors of several towns no longer on the map who could tell you more. As for myself, I’m considerably more content to live not knowing what might have happened than I was to lose sleep over it while it was going on. Drama is so much more appreciable from the audience.” 

The Headmaster leaned forward in his seat.

“But now I must ask you; was he always gifted for greatness? Many parents insist that their children are special, but a Dragonborn child must have shown signs?”

Long moments passed as the silence stretched awkwardly between them. Not a single memory stood out. Arncurion felt his face grow hot. Had there been signs? Was he even entertaining this?

“No. He was a perfectly ordinary and annoying child.”

Crestfallen, Viarmo had left off the topic and bid him good evening. But not before Arncurion had seen the pity in his eyes.

As he walked home, he found himself wondering if the Headmaster had any children. If he was proud of them, or if they vexed him as Ceirindril did. He suspected the former. And now Elsirion had followed suit. Rebellious and argumentative, never respectful or where he should be. The boy was up to something. Too much like his brother now and getting more so every day.

The wind had whipped a shiver inducing draft beneath his coat as he had turned up the steps to the house and let himself in.

And now he stood at the top of the stairs, watching his pregnant wife where she lounged in bed reading; books on Nord law. Well, naturally he wasn’t the only one who wanted to get out of this house and work toward their agreed goal of acquiring a villa in Cyrodiil. Somewhere that knew sun and warmth. This Aedra forsaken country certainly didn’t.

He cleared his throat as he neared the desk and set his papers and things down. She looked up as soon as she came to a stopping place. He sat down on the edge of the bed and turned so he could look her in the eyes.

“Nalarie, would you be willing to reconsider how we have handled our sons? We may have… issued a verdict without all the evidence. And what we are doing… clearly hasn’t worked out the way we had hoped.”

“This is about our eldest?” She sighed and set the book away on the nightstand, knowing she would not be getting back to it anytime tonight. “What have you heard to change your mind all of a sudden?”

She reached out as he related the story and took his hand. After he had finished speaking, they sat together and held each other as the candle burned down and the wind continued to rattle and moan at the window panes. It would be a decision best made come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. You guys are all troopers to still be putting up with this mess of a story. : )  
> 


	17. Shadows

“Are they suspicious?”

“Aye. They’ve pulled everyone back and them tunnels is empty. If you meant to surprise em, you won’t.” The lone scavenger shoved the pouch of coins into his tunic before he was dismissed to disappear back into the night.

“Then there is no further point in waiting.”

The two tall robed and hooded figures among them whispered urgently together, where the small group hunkered in the moonlit shadow of the old stone wall before they rose and moved closer to the wall. Spells were cast and the figures seemed to ripple softly before vanishing to blend with the background textures of stone and lichen. Ropes were unnecessary. Levitation spells lifted them all over the wall and they moved, unseen through the shadows.

A guard hawked and spit, sniffling in the damp and cold, oblivious.

A family of skeevers scattered from their home in a garbage heap in an alley at their passing. The stairs creaked then; the old damp wood was slick with frost.

Faint shadows seemed to move counterpoint to the torches towards the gate that lead to the ratway.

Riften’s homeless population slept huddled together in the tunnels, the reek of unwashed bodies and cold limestone filled the space and where breath fogged even here. Fires burned within metal barrels and a few haphazard rings of debris. A few people milled about, feeding twigs or scraps of trash to the flames or simply sitting and staring. Some drank. A few quiet conversations were going on. Somewhere, someone coughed and the wet thick sound echoed off the walls.

They startled with the draft of cold air that guttered the flames only to find the group led by two robed Thalmor mages who appeared in their midst seemingly out of nowhere and strode with purpose down towards the next level. Those who were awake to see it gathered what they could and headed for safer shelter. A few slept through it.

Except for one rag shrouded figure who watched their passing from the shadows with keen archers eyes. 

At the snap of the first traps firing and the ensuing shouts of alarm and cries of pain, she was up, ragged robe thrown away to uncover the bow. The arrow was knocked, drawn, and fired. 

There was a gasping cry, and one mage staggered and then dropped. His companion’s hands lit with fires, magic awaiting a target.

Karliah had already fired the next shots and run for the exit.

All up and down the ratway, shadows shifted and moved as thieves, rogues, and mercenaries stepped from their hiding places and moved into position. The mage turned slowly around, realizing his predicament. The hands lifted. The flames went out. One by one, those left standing lay down their weapons. The shadows drew close around them.


	18. Strays

The entire journey there, both Ceirin and Teldryn kept glancing back, looking for tall shadows and dark robed tails. It was a rushed and unrestful trip full of the feeling of being watched. They both breathed easier as soon as they crossed through the city’s high gates.

Winter had arrived in Solitude. A thin layer of snow dusted the streets and the skies were a uniform overcast grey, darker where trails of smoke rose from so many chimneys, wood fire scent mingling with the cold salt tang of the sea. People kept their hoods up and their cloaks pulled close as they hurried through the streets. 

They had dropped the scroll off, dodging as many of Tulius’s questions about what, where, and how it had come to be in their possession as possible. There had been one attempt already. The whole castle had been buzzing with rumor, the two mer had made their way back out to the streets as soon as they were able to. Even so, it was dark by then.

A few market stalls were still open so they stopped on their way out to pick up some spiced wine that Ceirin insisted made the best mulled wine he’d ever had. They were making small talk with the proprietor over their purchase when a commotion drew their attention.

“Thieves! Halt!”

Two figures; one lanky and one petite, raced past and vaulted the shrubbery in order to cut across to the next street. _A khajiit_ , Teldryn realized as he caught sight of the tail trailing behind the small one. Several guardsmen gave chase, as the offended party, complaining loudly about his missing coin purse, brought up the rear.

“I wonder how the cat got in past the gate?” the spellsword mused out loud. _The height of that taller figure_ ….

“She didn’t have to.” Ceirin’s expression was wry. “We brought her in.”

“Was that…?” 

“Pretty sure it was, yeah.” The altmer shook his head. “They better hope the guards don’t catch up to them before we do.”

Ceirin grabbed up their purchase and the two mer headed in the wake of the would-be thieves, the shouting of the guards marking an easy trail to follow.

They arrived just as the guards were dragging Elsirion from his not- very- well- thought- out hiding place. The coin purse was returned and its rightful owner sent along his way. Ceirin paid the fine and took over from there, soothing the guards ruffled tempers. When they had gone, he rounded on his brother.

“What in Oblivion were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I’d be faster. Or they’d be slower.”

Ceirin reached up and smacked him. It wasn’t too hard, but Elsirion stilled and stared at him, one hand to his cheek.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t happened to be here? You think they won’t drag you off? And mom and dad will only bail you out so many times. Trust me; _I know_.”

That sobered the young mer. He stood chewing his lip and scuffing the toe of one boot around on the snowy cobbles. 

“At least I wouldn’t have to go home. And you sound like mom.”

“Ouch, that’s low. And last I checked you were still the favorite.”

“Whatever that means. Everything I want to do now is ‘too upsetting’ or ‘you’ll get tired’ or ‘what if something happens’. Or they pretend nothing ever happened and I have to sit there and act like... They’re sending me away to some school. They didn’t even ask. ” Elsirion looked away, but not before Teldryn caught the telltale shimmer of unshed tears. 

“A school …?”

“In Cyrodiil, somewhere. A mages guild or something. I guess I should be grateful they looked outside Alinor. I don’t want to go. I thought, if I could get enough money together, then maybe we could find somewhere to rent or… ” He trailed off and shrugged. “So I’ve been sneaking out.” 

Ceirin had listened, his lips pressed into a thin angry line. Then Elsirion’s stomach growled and the anger left as he huffed out a laugh and shook his head at his younger sibling, who stood blushing and looking awkward in the cold. 

“Have either you or your little shadow eaten dinner yet?”

Teldryn glanced over at the slight figure of the khajiit who had dropped down from a nearby tree while they’d been talking. Her ears had perked up at the mention of food.

“…I, ah, skipped dinner, so…” Elsirion shrugged and gave his brother a hopeful look.

Ceirin sighed and glanced at Teldryn. Something was exchanged there without need for words. _Of course we’re going to feed them_ , Teldryn thought. _Thieving little brats._

Half an hour later, they sat around a table tucked into an alcove of the Inn and watched as the two young ones scarfed down enough food to fuel a small army. The story had unfolded that since her release from the hospital, the cat, whose name was Tsajarra, had not been able to get in contact with her family. With nowhere to go and no way to make money, she had been left out in the cold. Elsirion had been sneaking her food and blankets in exchange for pickpocketing lessons. She just..wasn’t very good at it.

Together, they had hatched a rather weak plan to store up enough food and money to run away. When asked about the timing and where they had planned to go, the two exchanged a guilty look.

“We thought we could sleep outside. I didn’t know it would get this cold.”

Tsajarra made a soft purring sound in agreement. 

“It hasn’t gotten very cold yet.” 

“You mean it gets worse?”

Ceirin gave his brother a not-so –nice grin.

Teldryn had to laugh at the kids expression.

“My uncle works as a guard on one of the caravan routes. I was trying to meet up with him.”

“Tsajarra, if you want, you can come to Riften with us and I can see about getting you into the guild. The next caravan should arrive for Mid-winter. It’ll get you food and a bed until then.”

Elsirion groaned and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Can’t we just live with you?”

“If it comes down to that, then…maybe. But winter is the worst time to travel and it’s not safe, for other reasons, right now. You said you’ve been doing this to help her. If she’s safe, and has a place, then you can start working out what you want to do. I can go with you to talk to mom and dad, if you need.”

“Ugh. Now you sound like dad.” Elsirion dropped his head down onto his arms where they were crossed over the table.

Ceirin ignored the sarcastic remark and continued.

“Either you want things to change badly enough to talk to them face to face or you are running away from your problems. You have a right to be angry but despite what they’ve done, they don’t deserve for you to disappear again with no word.”

In the end, they decided to compromise and approach their father first, who had taken a teaching position at the bards college in the evenings. Tsajarra would come back to Riften. She wanted to learn more about the thieves guild. They all agreed to meet at the gate in two hours.

They gave the kids a bit of time to say goodbye to each other before the brothers headed off to the college to try and catch their father between classes.

With Elsirion gone, Tsajarra lapsed back into near silence, nervously watching all the people around them. The spellsword felt a pang of sympathy. As stupid as their idea had been, he remembered how scary it could be to find oneself alone in a foreign country. Ceirin did too, which was why he had made the offer that he had.

He ordered another round of hot tea and settled in to telling a story about his early days as a mercenary and learning to fend for himself, hoping he could charm some information out of her. She gradually opened up a bit and they spent the two hours talking.

“It went alright?” Teldryn asked when Ceirin arrived a bit later than expected.

“They are..not happy. No surprise. But they agreed to try giving Elsirion more freedom for a bit and see if it helps. And they agreed not to make any major decisions that would affect him without his knowledge. He’s thinking about taking some classes at the Bard’s college. Picking up an instrument again might help strengthen his hands. They couldn’t say no.”

“He played before?” Tsajarra cocked her head. “What?”

“The harp and a bit of the lyre as well. Music lessons were mandatory in our house but dad made sure we concentrated more on reading and writing music than actually playing it.”

The three continued the conversation as they set off. Ceirin and Teldryn carried most of it, as the young khajiit went quiet again.

The weather broke into flurries around Dragonbridge and the wind picked up. They hurried their pace. 

They were crossing out of Haalfinger and into Whiterun territory when the news came down the road.

The Emperor was dead.

It was going to be a long winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays and thanks for reading!


	19. Intrigue

Ondolemar was in his quarters at the end of a long day, slouched in a chair by the fire, with a snifter of expensive Colovian brandy and his feet propped up. 

He had politely dodged Elenwen’s demands for a meeting. She knew he had been to the Embassy during her absence and he didn’t trust her to set foot back there lest he never be seen again. He wouldn’t be able to put her off much longer, however, and had been racking his brain for a valid reason to make her come to Markarth instead. 

He had answered several pieces of correspondence that had been languishing on his desk. 

He had logged the arrests of a small holdout group of Talos worshippers who had been meeting outside the city and signed off on their delivery to the mines. 

He had been summoned to listen to the Jarl vent his shock over the Emperors death and weathered the ensuing accusations and scheming without frying the insolent Nord on the spot. 

He had even avoided being slobbered on by the Jarls hounds when the hunt master had brought the unruly beasts through main hall before dinner. 

He was relaxing and admiring the rich color of his drink in the firelight when the arrow flew through his window, ricocheted off the stone wall next to his head and clattered to a stop on the floor amidst the raining shards of glass. A scrap of parchment was rolled around the shaft. Heart pounding, he glanced around towards the door, but the guards stationed outside didn’t seem to have heard. He tore it free and turned it to the firelight.

_Riften. Alone._

No signature, of course. But it wasn’t as if he knew more than one person who had a connection to Riften. Intriguing…what could this be about?

He threw the scrap into the fire and waited until it had burned. Then he went to change into travel clothes. He had stopped trusting the guards with his whereabouts. They had remained on his roster because the spy he knew about was preferable to the one he did not. This would call for some acting on his part.

When he was ready he flung the doors open and begun screaming at his guards, demanding they get someone out there to find that shooter. _I could have been killed and you were just standing around. What do I pay you for anyway? And get someone to clean up this glass and fix that blasted window. It’s freezing out there! The First Emissary shall hear of this!_

Suitably flustered, the guards rushed to obey. As soon as they were out of sight, Ondolemar grabbed a pack and cut through the museum to a little used side door. 

By the time anyone noticed his absence, he was already past the gate and riding hard to the east.


	20. Inklings and Interrogations

Ceirin hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d gotten back. Teldryn set down the bread and cheese he was eating and pushed out the other chair.

“Sit down. Watching you is making me tired.”

The rogue stopped and swung around to look at him before dropping down to sit. 

“What if he’s not coming?”

“Well, then you’ll have to do this on your own.”

“All I want is some kind of baseline to judge…I thought having him present would give me that.”

“I know.” Teldryn popped another bite into his mouth and chewed. A good excuse not to say more.

He disapproved of the whole thing. The Commander of the Justiciars was no one to start working with. He could see Ceirin’s point but he thought there must be a better way. 

Brynjolf had agreed with him, not wanting a high ranking Thalmor anywhere near his guild…but Ceirin had insisted and won his argument.

Ceirin stood again. 

“It’s time. If he’s here…”

“Be careful. I’ll see you later.”

The rogue grabbed his coat and scarf, kissed Teldryn, and left.

He headed to the gate. A tall cloaked figure was waiting at the stable, having just arrived. Together the two headed down into the overflow tunnels, skirting around the cistern and the heart of the guild. 

They took side tunnels and stairways until they were well below even the level of the sewers. Ondolemar slowly lowered the cloth he had been holding up over his nose. Either the stagnant stench of rot wasn’t as strong here, or he had gotten used to it.

“Where are you leading me?”

“We’re almost there.”

They ducked through a last doorway and into an open lantern lit space with rooms on three sides and a large grate on the fourth. One of the doors had had extra bars added on the outside. It was locked and a guard stood in front of it. 

“Go.” Ceirin dismissed the man.

Odolemar appraised the door.

“You are keeping someone?”

“I haven’t spoken to him yet. No one has. I need you to identify him, if you can.”

 _“You called me all the way out here to_ ….he’s Thalmor, isn’t he?” the Commander’s outrage died as the idea occurred.

Ceirin nodded.

“Part of a group of three. One was killed. He came here with the other mage, now dead, and a small group of hired thugs. They tried to attack the thieves who live here because one of those thieves had intercepted a scroll. A scroll that contained instructions to assassinate the Emperor.”

Ondolemar felt cold as the implications soaked in. 

“You think he is one of mine?”

“I think you are going to tell me if he is. Protecting him will only get you fitted for a noose. ”

“If the scroll was intercepted, then he can’t have been behind the actual killing. The timing is wrong. Perhaps they uncovered the plot and meant to expose it before your criminals interfered.”

“I don’t believe they meant to help. The Thalmor only benefit from the Empire falling apart. Besides, do you really think that will matter if this gets out? I need to know who he’s working for and why and it’s in your best interest to help me.”

Ondolemar sneered but it was undermined by his shoulders slumping in defeat. He made a brusque get –on- with -it sort of gesture towards the door.

Ceirin took a lantern, unlocked the door, and stepped into the room.

The prisoner looked up, squinting at the increased light.

“Well, do you know him?”

Ondolemar stepped in and looked the prisoner over. The mage was wearing Thalmor robes that showed the wear and dirt from travel but there was something a bit off about them, as if they didn’t fit properly. His hair was over- long and hung around his face. His hands were bound with the palms together. Traditional for a mage. 

Then the fellow raised his head and met their eyes. Ondolemar’s mind went blank with shock at what he was seeing. He heard Ceirin inhale sharply next to him. 

Two facts had hit the Commander at once. First, he did know this mer. A lieutenant who had been sent home injured over a year ago. He had always been loyal, to the best recollection. A small portion of Ondolemar’s brain struggled to come up with his name while the rest of his mind kept right on processing.

Because the second realization was that there was something _very_ wrong with him.

The prisoner’s eyes had black spots in them. Spots that shifted and moved, as if something was boiling up beneath the surface of the lens.

“State your name and rank” Ondolemar swallowed, wishing his mouth wasn’t quite so dry all of a sudden. 

_“Dragonborn. You are too late. It is done.”_

_“What is done?”_ Ceirin asked, following the prisoners use of altmeris.

Ondolemar felt a little surge of magic in the words.

_“The ascension. Your weak failure of an Emperor is dead. Our lord has risen. Summerset will fall and we will accomplish what you could not. All of Tamriel will bow.”_

The prisoner leaned forward, glassy gaze fixed on Ceirin. Ondolemar felt a bit queasy. 

“Lieutenant! State your name!”

Very slowly, the mage refocused on him. As if it took a great effort of will to do so.

“Apologies, Commander, but you will soon find the true Thalmor have no need for such meaningless titles.” He spoke so normally then. As if he hadn’t just proclaimed bizarre, threatening, meaningless things. 

“True Thalmor? What kind of redundant nonsense is this?”

The prisoner went back to staring at Ceirin and not blinking.

_“Hermaeus Mora sends a message for you. You should not have turned down his offer. Join us now. Become the champion you were meant to be.”_

Ceirin leaned forward and stared back. 

_“No.”_

_“Then you must die.”_

The prisoner heaved forward, shackles tearing away, his body splitting apart and bursting, morphing into a grotesque oily slack lipped creature with rancid ink dripping from its damp skin. Tentacles sprouted where the legs had been and what was once an altmer mage became a monstrosity.

Ceirin leapt back, drew his sword, and stepped forward with a cut at the same instant that fire sprang from Ondolemar’s hands. Together they killed the thing the prisoner had become.

Stumbling out of the cell, ichor splashed up the walls, on Ondolemar’s robes, and dripping from his blade, Ceirin leaned against the wall, face sweaty in the torchlight. Ondolemar wasn’t sure he looked much better. He tried to take deep slow breaths to steady his pounding heart, but the rank odor of the dead _thing_ in the cell behind him clogged his mouth and nose. He ground his teeth to keep from retching.

“What in Oblivion was that?” He demanded as soon as he trusted his voice not to shake.

“Lurker. One of Mora’s creatures.” Ceirin looked over at him. Then, “You did know him.”

“I do not recall his name. He was rotated out after an injury about a year back. I thought he was on the Isles…He should have been.”

“ _Something_ is definitely on the Isles. What he said…’Summerset will fall’?”

“And ‘True Thalmor’…yes. I heard everything you did.”

“So, is this a cult? He mentioned a ‘lord’. A coute? What are we dealing with here?”

“I have no idea. How did he know you? You claimed no one spoke to him.”

“They didn’t need to. I’ve…had dealings with Hermaeus Mora. So had he. Those dark spots in his eyes is what happens when… When he owns you.”

“Dealings? Enough so that a Daedric Prince wants to make you their champion? That is….”

“It’s not really me they want. I think it’s the dragon souls.”

“They?!” While Ondolemar could not deny having wanted to know more about this strange and decidedly dangerous altmer, the current revelations were doing nothing to make his knees feel less like wobbling. “Nevermind. I suspect it’s better that I not know.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said yet.” Ceirin pushed off the wall and gestured to the door. The two began the long winding trek back up to the streets. They parted at the stables.

“What are going to do when you get back? There may be more of them in your ranks. Could this be the group Elenwen is involved with?”

“I am aware. We may not be allies, but I do not wish to see the Thalmor, my Thalmor, overrun by the likes of that. I will make some careful inquiries.” 

“Can you find out where he was last? Track his movements on the Isles?” Ceirin frowned as he gazed down the road, mind still working on the prisoners words.

“Yes. Of course. At some point he clearly came across something he should not have. And it may pose a threat to others. I will try to let you know if I find anything significant, although I cannot do so if it is anything classified. You understand, I’m sure.”

“Of course.” Ceirin mimicked the imperious tone. 

When he had ridden out of sight, Ceirin shook the tension out of his hands and arms and hurried to update Brynjolf and Vex. 

It was late when he finally arrived back at home, dumped his coat and blades and boots, got washed up, and crawled underneath warm blankets to lay his head against Teldryn’s chest and listen to the steady rhythm of the dunmer’s heartbeat as he tried to shake the sense of foreboding that had been growing all day. 

“S’what happened?” The sleepy question broke the peace Ceirin had been slipping into. 

“Hm. Tell you tomorrow.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah.”

The chest beneath his head lifted in a heavy sigh and Teldryn’s arms tightened around him.

Surrounded by safe warm darkness, Ceirin relaxed enough to drift into sleep. 

His dreams were anything but restful.


	21. Cold Days Ahead

Winter settled softly into Riften during an overnight storm that fell in a hush and left glittering white in its wake. The city scraped and swept the stuff off into the partially frozen water and by midmorning, folk were out and about as usual, boots leaving tracks everywhere.

The two mer took their snowshoes out and hiked around the lakeshore under the bright sun, admiring the magical beauty of the snow where it heaped delicately on bare branches and marveling at how landmarks like dragon mounds and old ruins stood out so clearly in winter when they couldn’t be seen when the trees were in leaf.

The cold chased them back in and by noon they were eating lunch in front of a cheery fire, hot mugs of spiced mead washing it all down.

Teldryn had started working on some notes for chapter ideas for his book and Ceirin had some dried plants to grind up for potions.

It had had all the makings of a perfect day. 

Right up until the courier had knocked on the door just after lunch to deliver a stack of mail. 

 

_Dragonborn,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I hate to ask for your time and attention when I am sure you are very busy, but I have an urgent matter that requires your unique abilities. You may be the only one who can help. Please meet with me and I will provide you with the details. On the advice of an acquaintance, I will be at the Candlehearth for a fortnight at the end of the month._

_Sincerely,_

_Varilonwe Farwatch_

 

“What is it?” Teldryn glanced up from his notes.

“…..”

“Ceirin?”

“It’s…from someone I never thought I’d hear from. Not after all these years.”

“Is it a problem? You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic.”

“I don’t know. She shouldn’t be. But whatever she wants might be? I know her from before I left Alinor.”Ceirin sighed and sat down, handing the letter across to Teldryn. “It’s right out of the area Ondolemar mention in his letter…”

“I sense a story coming on.”

“Remember how I told you I got arrested for protesting the Thalmor back home?”

“Sure. Prompted you to leave and so forth….Good thing, too, or we’d never have met. I take it that’s where you know her from?”

“In short, yes. The group that I was a part of, Students for Truth; it was hers. She founded it, was in charge of it right up until she graduated and got some fantastic job offer. That was the last time I saw her. I wonder what she wants?”

“Why would you be willing to talk to someone who got you arrested? Just curious…I don’t think I’ve heard the details.”

Ceirin chuckled although there wasn’t much real humor in the sound and wrapped his hands around the mug that had held tea, now mostly gone.

“She didn’t. After she left, this other fellow took over. When Var was in charge, we would protest outside businesses or at political speeches, distribute flyers, paint graffiti on buildings…pretty minor stuff. We didn’t have much impact, but we didn’t get into too much trouble either. A few arrests for trespassing, or unlawful gathering or vandalism, that sort of thing. You pay your fine and you go home, it was kind of a badge of honor. Plus it infuriated my parents.” He grinned.

“But after she left, this new leader, he felt we needed to do more, get more attention somehow.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Thalmor don’t seem like the sort to tolerate that.”

“You are…not wrong. They are a little more lenient with their own citizens, to give people the illusion that they have a voice. But their serious opposition disappears from the Isles just as often as from anywhere else.”

“That’s a lot for you to have risked.”

“I didn’t really understand it then. Not the way I do now. I knew they were bad, but I think, having grown up with it, that I just accepted a lot of it as normal. I thought it couldn’t happen to me. That must sound stupid.” 

Teldryn shook his head. 

“It sounds like you were young. You got out, in the end.”

“Not soon enough.” Ceirin’s expression darkened. 

“I take it this fellow’s ideas were part of that?” Teldryn asked.

“Partly. But it was me, too.” The rogue scowled. “Word got around that I had a bit of a, um, background with theft. So he got this idea that we should start stealing from businesses and homes of Thalmor supporters. Send a stronger message and maybe help funding, too. We were paying for or making all our own stuff at that point. So I taught a bunch of the others how to pick locks and what might be worth taking.”

“At first it was great. We had extra money and our message started getting through. We started getting new members. Then, I don’t know who suggested it, the idea was put forth to start… burning down the businesses after we’d robbed them.”

“Arson?! I have a hard time imagining you agreeing to that.”

“We thought we were being very smart. We set up rules. Businesses only, no homes. And the place had to be empty. We had to check every single time.” 

Teldryn rubbed his hands up over his face. He had a horrible premonition about where this story was going.

“Somebody forgot, didn’t they?” He asked.

“I will never know if it was intentional or if it really was just an accident. But ….the next day it was all over the city. Along with the warrants. Three people had died. The shopkeeper had been trying to smuggle them in to the country or something.”

“We met up the next day at an empty warehouse. We were all arguing, trying to figure out what in Oblivion had gone wrong and what we could do about it when a fireball blew the doors off and the Justiciars marched in. Someone had ratted us out. We all ran.”

“I ended up stuck down a dead end alley. I thought they were going to kill me. Getting punched by someone wearing gauntlets really hurts, by the way.” Ceirin absently ran his hand over the faint scars that marred his lips.

“I believe it.”

“I was in a cell after that. No light and no food and I had no idea where I was because I’d barely been conscious when they dragged me in. Eventually, my mother came and bailed me out. That was the last time I saw any of them and I don’t know who else got arrested or who got away or if…” The rogue trailed off, chewing his lip.

“Oblivion, Ceirin, you got lucky.” Teldryn whispered. He felt chills shiver down his back at how close the rogue had come.

“…I know.”

“She was a part of this? And you want to meet with her?”

“She was out of the group by then, on to whatever her new job was. Something diplomatic, if I recall.”

“You trust her enough to see what she wants… She just had to pick the Candlehearth, too.”

“It doesn’t look like she knows it is me. She probably thinks she’s meeting a Nord.”

“Well, seeing as how you already made up your mind…” 

“It won’t hurt to hear her out, Teldryn. I didn’t say I would do it, whatever ‘it’ turns out to be.”

“Famous last words from you.” The spellsword’s mouth quirked with bitter humour into something that was too unhappy to be a smile and while his tone was light, it didn’t reach his eyes. He reached over for the rest of the letters.

“Hey. There’s one here from Raven Rock.” He tore open the seal. “It’s from Geldis.”

 

 _Hey Sero,_ _If you’re not too busy saving the world and you haven’t forgotten about us completely up here, a couple of matters have been sitting around waiting that could use your attention._

_First, thanks are in order again for getting the mines back up and running. Business has been better than I’ve seen in years._

_Secondly, Councilor Arano has a reward for you regarding that little plot you foiled. He wouldn’t tell me what it is. Very mysterious. Except for that big empty house just sitting around, so I’m guessing that’s what he wants to give you. Told him he should just mail you the deed and have done but he won’t do it. Can’t say I didn’t try._

_Thirdly, there’s been an odd fellow moping about the Netch the last few weeks over some archeological project or other. He posted some want ads, but no takers as of yet. You two still sticking your noses into old ruins and other people’s business? Might be up your alley. (His name’s Sederis or something.)_

_Geldis_

_Ps- Glover says hi_

_Pss- so does everyone else, apparently_

 

Teldryn snorted and shook his head. Glancing over his shoulder, Ceirin could see several sets of different drunken handwriting scrawling along the borders. There was also a stain of something that smelled like wine. Clearly, Glover and company had gotten the letter away from Geldis at some point to add their own embellishments.

“So…what do you think? Back up to Raven Rock. Interested?”

“If we go now, we run the risk of being stuck there, Teldryn. The boats only run to the end of this month and they won’t start again until spring.”

“I know.” Teldryn grumbled.

“You want to go, don’t you?”

“Sure. Besides, if this friend of yours ends up not having anything worth doing, it might not hurt to have a backup plan. That’s all.”

“Well, then…I guess we pack for a longer trip when we go up to Windhelm and take it from there, depending on what Var has to say?”

Teldryn shrugged and nodded his agreement, then seemingly went back to his notes. He kept looking over at Geldis’ letter, though.

The rest of what would have been a quiet afternoon held an air of tension as each mer privately considered the compromise and wondered about the months ahead and just what they had agreed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up everyone, angst ahead.


	22. Old Friends, Dark Times

Teldryn sat with his back to the wall and his eyes on the crowd, sipping his ale. To all appearances, the chitin armored dunmer, though out of place, was just another freelance mercenary come through Windhelm to cool his heels and wet his palate until better prospects came along. Or perhaps he had been hired and was meeting with a patron here.

He ignored the itch of eyes turned in his direction and away again by the local Nord patrons. 

Teldryn Sero was working.

He’d arrived early and gotten the best spot in the old stone hewn tavern for watching the floor. Only the bouncer had better and if they ended up needing his involvement then things would have really gone sideways.

Ceirin had at least agreed that having someone watch his back was a good plan. The letter could have been sent by anyone and even if Ceirin remembered this Varilonwe, that didn’t mean she was the same or couldn’t have been used by another to set a trap. And it would have worked, too; Ceirin’s natural curiosity and his reckless nature all but guaranteed that. Not to mention several mer meeting in a Nord tavern might not go over so well…

So Teldryn killed half an hour pretending that he liked his weak watered down drink and rating threat assessments on all the folks who lounged about the place. Ceirin was somewhere outside, watching the entrance. 

That turned out to be less than necessary. It would have been impossible to miss the lithe figure of Ceirin’s contact when she arrived. She might have stood out in any crowd, but against the cold grit of Windhelm’s colorless winter, the difference was staggering. She lowered her teal blue dyed wool hood, stitched around with embroidery, to reveal a wealth of blonde curls pinned back to frame her face. Pale green eyes blinked slowly around, pausing on Teldryn with a faint frown, until she spotted a table and moved to sit. She limped a bit. Teldryn noticed she also had a scar on her chin. So she’d seen some fighting. But there was something open and approachable about her face that put him at ease.

A moment later, a wood elf wandered in and joined her after ordering drinks.

So Ceirin hadn’t been the only one to bring backup. Well, alright. Not completely unexpected. The bosmer didn’t look all that tough. And given his more recent observations of altmer magic, he wondered if the man might not even be a decoy of sorts. People would underestimate the woman, go after the male, and therefore make themselves her target. 

His attention was drawn from his speculations by the unmistakable scrape and drag of furniture being moved. More specifically that of chairs being pushed away from tables. One of the Nords who had been grumbling and shooting looks ever since Teldryn had sat down, the one with scars across his cheeks from dueling and a nose broken so many times that looked as though it had had a meat mallet taken to it, had risen to his feet upon seeing yet two more elves enter ‘his’ tavern. 

_This could get rough._

When a few insults failed to raise a satisfactory response from either the altmer woman or her companion, the man seemed to lose his focus.

“Rolf, let it go. Just finish your mead.” A drinking buddy reached up to grab at his sleeve and was shoved back.

Teldryn thought he might back down. Then Ceirin walked in.

“You!” Rolf had a new target. “You’re not welcome here. Empire loving freaks!” 

“Go home Rolf, you’re drunk. And since breaking your nose the last time didn’t teach you anything, I would rather you not waste my time.” Ceirin walked by the man and was pulling out a chair to sit when a heavy calloused hand dropped on his shoulder. 

Teldryn tensed, ready to move in if necessary. _So there was a history there and not a friendly one_. He kept his eyes on Rolf’s friends. 

Ceirin reached back and dropped his hand over the top of Rolf’s. A quick twist downward as he spun towards the Nord kept the man’s arm pinned so he couldn’t back away. The rogues other hand came down in a hammer blow that struck, and broke, the collarbone. 

The man’s sharp grunt of pain as he stumbled and was spun to the floor spurred his friends to action. They stood, ready to defend.

Teldryn stood, too. 

It was looking like the setup of a really good row when the owner came storming downstairs from where she had been serving customers, with an axe in hand that looked as if she might have pulled it from one of the antique displays over the mantle, screaming, mainly at Ceirin and the other elves, to knock it all off or she’d call the guards. 

From a chair near the fire, an off duty guard interrupted her, unexpectedly backing Ceirin’s use of self-defense. Seeing that she had no allies, the woman went back to bartending, slamming things about and muttering about manners and ingrates; just audible enough to make sure they all heard. She left the axe on the counter as a not so subtle warning.

Rolf stood, drained the last of his drink and stormed out, his group trailing after.

After a few moments, things calmed down. People went back to their meals and conversations and the normal rhythm of the inn returned.

Varilonwe and her companion had stood and she turned to thank Ceirin for interfering, but did a double take, recognition flickering uncertainly.

“Ceirindril Aedthaer? It is you… What in the name of all the Aedra are you doing here?”

“Hi, Var. It’s been awhile” He smiled that charming rogue’s smile. “Same as you.”

Teldryn noticed the wood elf’s eyes narrow. 

“Ceirin, as much as I would love to get caught up, I’m sort of waiting for someone?”

“I know. But, perhaps we should relocate? Then you can tell me all about this dragon. There is a dragon, isn’t there? Otherwise, why write to the Dragonborn.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she put it together.

“This had better not be some kind of prank because I have traveled much too far and placed too much hope in this to put up with you if it is.”

“Var. It’s me. Really.” Ceirin raised his hands in innocence.

They chatted a bit about old times on the way to the New Gnisis Corner Club. Harmless things, it mostly consisted of old inside jokes and name drops Teldryn didn’t recognize. The wood elf was reintroduced as her husband, Geldrim Willowdale.

Once they got inside, everyone relaxed. It was drafty and dirty, but the oven was full of food and fresh bread, the aromas of which could be smelled all the way down the street, and the drinks were flowing. Conversation and laughter rose and fell about various tables as the place began to fill up with dunmer looking for dinner and a spot to unwind after work.

They got a private alcove on an upper floor; the warmth of the chimney running up through the wall close by. Teldryn sat with his knee pressed against Ceirin’s while he listened to the plot unfold. 

There was, indeed, a dragon. An undead dragon. A cult had started up on Summerset some years back; a group that took the most extreme views of the Thalmor and combined them with scraps of old religions and an attempt at mysticism but which had never had much of a following, until they had stumbled across some artifact or other that had given them knowledge and abilities the likes of which hadn’t been seen on the Isles since the days of Mannimarco.

Teldryn fought back a shiver and blamed the drafty front window he sat under. _Necromantic cults and undead dragons_. It was getting to be a bit over his head. The Oblivion Crisis had left deep scars across history. Generations feared to speak of what they had seen and experienced in those days when the planes had nearly merged and Molag Bal had come close to ruling Tamriel. The altmer had been especially hard hit.

Teldryn remembered a bit. He’d still been a kid, mostly concerned with classwork and curfews. He’d worried more about the volcano than the wars going on, but he recalled the hushed talk coming from his parents’ room late at night, the news of worse and worse atrocities being gossiped about in the streets. 

The young and the reckless had headed off to join the fighting, provided they didn’t want to serve for their houses in the political upheaval and infighting taking place all across Morrowind in those days.  
Blacklight hadn’t seen any daedra, but they had had shiploads of survivors of the both civil war and the Cyrodiil front limping into the harbor; sails tattered, masts burnt and snapped, hulls scorched, crews exhausted and bloodied.

The Summerset Isles were in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for reading.  
> I don’t know when the next update will be. Writing about a fictitious gov’t that is based off of fascism can be entertaining. Dealing with your gov’t becoming fascist is horrifying. So I’ve been having panic attacks, protesting, writing letters, etc. Now that I have some of this experience irl, parts of Ceirin’s backstory are hitting too close to home and other parts are hitting me as being wrong. I want to write my characters and stories in a way that takes these issues seriously even if it is just for entertainment.  
> But now I’m in place where I don’t know how best to do that, and also when it’s a possible reality in daily life, its no longer entertaining. So, I do still want to finish this story, but I need more time to consider how and to deal with my own useless emotions on some of these subjects. Sorry for getting heavy on you here for a second, and I hope that things in the US /as well as other parts of the world/ don’t get anywhere near as bad as I’m afraid they will. Pls be patient, and I hope that wherever you are, you are safe.


	23. Parting Ways

After talking for nearly an hour about the resistance group she had been leading and how they had gone from watchful to actively engaging this cult on Summerset soil until they had managed to get the intelligence on the dragon; too late to stop the ceremony that had resurrected it. At which point, the rumors about the Dragonborn in Skyrim had suddenly gained greater precedence. 

When their meals arrived, they switched to talk of more normal things as they ate.

“What happened to that job offer you couldn’t wait to accept?” 

“It was good for a while. But after a couple of years, I just felt like it wasn’t enough. ” She shrugged, “So I quit and joined up with a group who needed a leader. And now I’m here.”

“I had no idea that it would be an Altmer, much less you.” Var paused, thinking of something, “Do you still talk to your parents?”

Ceirin snorted. “Only if I have to.” He laughed a bit. “Nothing’s changed on that front. They, ah, they’re all here, now; in Skyrim.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

“Your family?”

“Oh, I’ve been disowned. For ‘marrying beneath me’” She grinned and suddenly her face was beautiful. “They even sent me the signed papers. Best thing that ever happened to me.” She reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand; he squeezed back with a gentle smile.

“Mine, too.” Ceirin pretended to pout for a moment. “I didn’t get any papers.”

“How long have you been married?” Geldrim asked between sips of wine.

Both Ceirin and Teldryn dissolved into sudden awkward spluttering as they tried to swallow their food and talk over each other to explain.

“We’re not…no, sorry. I meant the disowned part, not the married part.” The rogue finally managed, coughing self -consciously. 

“I shouldn’t have presumed.” Geldrim bowed his head a bit in apology.  
“Well, to go back to the matter at hand; we came here to ask the Dragonborn to return to Summerset with us. Please say you’ll come?”

The rogue set down his fork and looked at Teldryn, the question already in his eyes.

Teldryn sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He already knew the answer.  
With a disgusted sigh he nodded. “We’ll come.”

Their expressions were not of relief, however. The two leaned in together to whisper together before turning back to the table.

“Ceirin, I’m so sorry, but I can only get you into the Isles.”

“What?!” Teldryn felt disbelief run like a shock of cold water down his spine to settle in his stomach in a hard knot. “No.”

“You could come with us as far as the mainland. I’ll be staying behind this time, too.” Geldrim looked as sour about it as Teldryn felt.

“I’m not going all that way to sit and steam in some jungle while you take all the risks. We both go or neither of us does.” 

“I do have some things to do there. It won’t be dull.” Geldrim tried to soothe, “Maybe I could use your help.”

“Ceirin, tell them the deals off.” 

Teldryn tossed his napkin down and rose to leave. Ceirin didn’t follow. The rogue looked as if he’d been punched in the gut.

He swallowed and looked up at Teldryn. And then the spellsword _knew_.

“I can’t.” it was almost a whisper. “Only altmer are allowed on the Isles; there’s that stupid ban. There are permits, but they take months and they would never grant one to a dunmer since they aren’t a part of the Dominion….”

“I have to go, Teldryn, you know I do. If they’ve figured out how to harness the dragon soul with a gem or something else, then it won’t be killed until I get the soul out. I’m the only one who could break that cycle. I’ll come back as soon as it’s done.”

Teldryn stood still, glowering at an old grease stain that had soaked into the rickety floorboards as if it were somehow responsible. He ground his teeth until he trusted himself to speak and even then all he managed was, 

“Suit yourself.”

He stormed out, heart thudding dull and painful in his chest. _I should have guessed it would come to this_. There was always going to be one more thing.

Back at the table, Var reached out and rested a comforting hand on Ceirin’s arm. His hands were clenched in fists, a bitter smirk contorting his lips.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was full of compassion. “I would never ask this of you if I didn’t have to.”

“Yes. I know.” Ceirin blew a long breath out as he shook his head in frustration. “My life has never been mine. I don’t know why I thought it ever could be. ”

He forced his hands open and stood to follow Teldryn out. 

“Will you give us some time…to…confer?”

“There’s a ship leaving tomorrow at noon. I was hoping to be on it. The next one won’t leave until the following week. And that’s _if_ the weather holds.”

“Of course.” 

Ceirin made his farewells and left, pace slow and heart heavy.

When he got back to the room, Teldryn was packing, slamming things around in a complete fury and muttering curses under his breath. He stopped when he saw Ceirin watching him.

Running his hands back through his hair, he rocked back on his heels and sighed.

“I’m not mad at you.” He clarified. “Well, I am, but more about the rest of it.”

“I know.” Ceirin’s voice shook with the effort of holding back the threat of tears. “But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“So….What are you going to do?”

“I was going to head up to Raven Rock, see what all that is about.”

Ceirin nodded. “Are you coming back?”

Teldryn straightened up from where he’d been fastening the buckles on his pack.

“Are you?” He countered.

Gold eyes caught the lamplight as they widened.  
“Of course I am. Was that in question?”

“…You’re going _home_. And I’m going back up to a place I lived for years and it just feels like…It’s…” Teldryn stopped and restarted. “Ceirin…I can’t do this. There will always be someone else who wants your help, dragons, monsters, whatever. I can’t … ”

Unshed tears shone in those gorgeous gold eyes.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

 _Shit._ Teldryn had to turn away in order to swipe a sleeve across his own cheek. He despised crying. It felt like such a weakness.

“I don’t want to, but I can’t keep doing this. Being left behind. I can’t go with you to these places you need to go, I can’t watch your back, I can’t sit around and wait, I can’t….” He snarled in frustration and swiped at his face again but it didn’t matter anymore, his voice had hitched and the tears were starting. He sniffled and sucked in a breath of air past the tight ache in his chest. Enough to finish what he had been going to say.

“…I can’t lose you… I think maybe I’m just wrong for you.” 

Something almost imperceptible shifted in Ceirin then. He straightened up and studied Teldryn a moment before striding across the room and taking the spellsword’s face in his hands.

“You are not and you will not.”

The kiss that followed took what was left of Teldryn’s breath. When it ended they leaned on each other for a long moment, neither of them saying anything. Ceirin finally broke the silence stretching between them.  
“So, I’ll go and kill this thing and you go and see what’s going on with everyone up in Raven Rock. I’ll write. A lot…And when I get back…ah, if, if you still think we can’t work things out, then we can argue about it some more. Please?”  
Teldryn snorted; it was a weak laugh, muffled where his face was still pressed against Ceirin’s shirt, but it helped dispel some of the tension.

“Alright.” He managed. 

They spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms making certain not to waste the few remaining hours they had left before circumstances sent them apart.


	24. Parted

The next morning they said their final farewell and Teldryn boarded the boat heading to Solstheim. It felt like an eerie and reversed sense of déjà vu. He watched as Windhelm shrank in the distance until it was out of sight; after which he stared listlessly out over the dull winter sea. 

Ceirin met up with the others and by afternoon, their ship was also underway, sailing west towards Solitude and then around the continent and southward. 

He stood at the rail, coat and furs drawn close for warmth, staring at the coastline sliding by in silence. The ache in his chest spread until his whole body felt brittle. 

For their part, Varilonwe and Geldrim expressed their sympathy and then, mercifully left him alone to his thoughts. After a time, he excused himself to his quarters, sat down, and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chptr....I need to get back to working on this. I hate leaving my poor characters languishing. Even though, I write them doing that.


	25. Old Bones

The maze of caverns snaked beneath the rugged seaside hillscape with an unnatural shape. One sharp cliff sheered down, not to the waterline as with the others as they eventually collapsed into the sea, but on the inland side; the result of a large chunk of a broken Oblivion gate having struck and blasted out an impact crater. Centuries of rain and plant growth had weathered and softened the torn landscape, but anyone who knew the history could still see it if they knew where to look.

And only those who knew where the caverns opened among the copse of trees leaning under the heavy weight of vines and moss part way up could see how to enter that maze. 

Kalaron sighed and hiked his black robes higher to prevent them from snagging or tangling around his legs as he trudged up the rocky slopes, ducking and weaving around trees, fallen and standing, as well as boulders and areas that had washed out during the last heavy rains. Tall and whip thin to the point of frailty, he wasn’t built for trekking through the woods. Never the less, it was sometimes necessary to put comfort aside.

He paused to check his back trial, though he hardly expected anyone to be following him. It was still dark; sunrise was hours off. Stars peeped through the leaves above and every so often the dark –on- dark shadow of a bat would flit by, seeking insects. It might have been peaceful but his purpose lent only ominous imaginings to his unquiet mind. 

He needed to speak to the others, to let them know that their plans were ready to be finalized. 

The Thalmor governing Summerset had become complacent. Their original goal of purifying the altmer race had fallen victim to greed; ties being forged according to wealth and social or political status rather than real magical potential. And the intent of conquering Cyrodiil and Skyrim had been put off for too long. 

Their first attack on the records offices had happened swiftly and been hushed up just as fast. Thalmor agents were only just now waking up to the realization that they had a more immediate foe than the Nords or those few Bosmer still rebelling from their jungle hideouts against the alliance that had reformed the Dominion. 

The assassination of the Emperor gone off despite last minute interference that had forced them to rely on a backup plan but the ensuing political instability was a welcome distraction as well as a prime opportunity. Two successful hits and they had only suffered acceptable and expected losses. They would need to push back harder and soon. 

Kalaron swatted away a cloud of gnats as he stepped over the last fallen log and edged his way between a fallen chunk of rock and the edge of the cliff face that opened into the first cave. A stack of skulls sat just outside, marking the spot and warning intruders away. Not that there ever were intruders; spells set into the stone gave the whole area an off putting vibe. 

Weaving his way down stony corridors that dripped, causing his torch to splutter in protest. Every footfall echoed as he followed the route from memory. Further in, initiates were practicing their art on the bodies of a few officials too stubborn to bend their knee. Their corpses would serve where their consciousness had failed.

Deeper still, mages were meditating on Daedric runes; learning to summon and to bind. The old battlefields surrounding the area meant no shortage of skeletons to answer a call to serve. 

Undead guards stood silent at attention outside the inner most cavern. The whole area thrummed with magic. Mages moved about the space, some grinding spell ingredients, others reading, still more working to etch symbols and runes into weapons, armor, and other items.

In an alcove off to one side, on a pedestal, a black book bound in skin sat, warded by spells and runes. It seemed to be waiting. But it was not the book that held Kalaron’s attention. He was looking instead over a heap of immense bones; the skeleton of a dragon.

“I bring news.” His voice boomed up into the vast space, fading long before it reached the rocky ceiling or walls, surprisingly deep for so thin a chest. Everyone set aside what they were doing in order to listen.

The heap of bones stirred, rattling and clicking as they shifted and rose up; desiccated and rotten tendons looking about to tear apart, but bound to hold by magic older than the creature itself.

The undead dragon lifted its head and considered the necromancer.

“How may I serve?”

Kalaron began to lay out his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient! You guys are great. : )


	26. Words on Parchment

Teldryn was still trying to stomp the ash off his boots as he crossed the floor towards the bar. 

“Evening, Geldis. What’s in the pot for tonight? ”

He’d been out at that damned dig site killing what amounted to be three whole draugr, all because the workers had panicked and threatened to quit. Again. Well, to be fair, one had died. But when Teldryn had found the body, it had appeared that the fellow had received a survivable wound and later tripped as he had been fleeing and cracked his head on the stone. It had taken less than thirty minutes to get the place workable again. Ralis had been embarrassed. Teldryn was just angry. 

It had been just enough time wasted for him to get caught in the beginnings of a late season ash storm. He had forgotten how much he hated ash storms. He was hungry, filthy, and tired and he wanted food, and a bath, and for this day to be over. Not necessarily in that order.

“Hey, Sero. Scuttle and fresh loaves of daedra heart bread with a side of grilled vegetables. I also got in some Roobrush blossom tea. But I think you might be more interested in the mail that came today.”

The spellsword frowned, forgetting about his food and foul mood, as the Innkeep handed him the stack of letters, all bound up in twine.

“To go, then?” Geldis asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Teldryn glanced back up, distracted by the rush of exhilaration at seeing the familiar writing on the envelopes.

“Your meal. Take it to go? Otherwise you’ll have to contend with these busybodies reading over your shoulder.”

Teldryn glanced back to find both Glover and Fethis, who had come into line behind him, peering curiously at the stack of letters he held.

“Piss off.” He waved them away.

Fethis at least had the decency to pretend he wasn’t interested. Glover, on the other hand, pretended no such thing.

“Are those from Ceirin?”

Geldis handed a small covered basket of food across the counter, Teldryn took it and headed for the door, somewhat faster than he meant to.

“They are, aren’t they?” Glover called after him.

“ _Piss. Off._ ” 

He paid no heed to the laughter he left behind in his rush. As soon as he made it to the house and the door was secured behind him, the food was set on the table and immediately forgotten in favor of the chair he dragged closer to the fire to read.

Hands shook to get the seals broken and the pages unfolded.

 

_Dear Teldryn,_

_Today is the first day of our journey and we are sailing along the coast of the Pale. Everything is brown and gray and cold. I used to think they called it the Sea of Ghosts because of all the shipwrecks. I hear from the sailors that it’s more to do with the fogs and icebergs lurking just out of sight, since that is usually what causes the wrecks. It suits my current mood somehow. I would much rather be at home in front of the fire with you._

_We stopped for a few hours during clear weather this afternoon so the sailors could hunt some horker. Apparently, the meat sells well in High Rock and they use an oil derived from the blubber in some of their apothecary work there. We also convinced the captain to skip the stop in Hammerfell. That should get us to Woodhearth days faster and we can catch a boat across to Summerset from there._

_I won’t have to go anywhere near Alinor. We’ll be landing on the small Isle. This cult has set up in a series of caverns of the south coast. I’ll see what I’m going to be up against when we get there. Until then, all I can do is worry about it._

_I’ve been thinking about our last night, the things we said and more about what we didn’t say. I wanted to wait until I got back to talk, and I don’t want to pressure you to an answer, but when I though on it some more I wondered if that was the wrong thing. Maybe writing will be a better way? We can take more time to consider what we need to say with words on parchment without the pressure of being in person. ~~I wanted to~~ ~~I’m not that good at~~ _

_You said that you are afraid of losing me because the things I end up doing having to do take me places where you can’t follow._

_I wish you could._

_Everything I have ever had to do would have been over much sooner and with less pain trouble if I had had you there with me. When I have found myself alone, or with a stranger at my back, I have realized how wonderful it is to have someone I can trust as much as I do you. Now is no exception. (Which is not to say I don’t trust Var. I do. ) And yet, I wouldn’t wish some of those journeys on an enemy, so to say that of someone I love and want to keep in relative safety feels wrong to me somehow. Selfish._

_In a perfect world, we would grow old and decrepit together, one of us would still die first. The only reason of that being less painful would be by virtue of having had a long life together and not as much time left alone for whoever survived. But if staying home and always being cautious and bored is the price, well, neither of us is the type for that. And three hundred years from now we might still be bored to tears of each other anyhow._

_So the fear of loss isn’t really the issue, I don’t think. What is? Have I slighted you in some way? Made you think I didn’t appreciate you or need you? If so, then I am very sorry. I know I am a better, more capable person for having you in my life. And I’m afraid of losing you, too._

_Love, Ceirin_

_Teldryn,_

_These coastlines all look the same. I’m getting bored of trees and rocks and gulls going past. And I miss you so much. Var’s been trying to cheer me up. But it just makes me think that you would have gotten annoyed with my moping and thrown something at me by now and that makes it worse._

_But she did remind me of something I said to her. That my life has never been mine. I don’t know if you believe in fate or whatever, but I do. Nothing in my life makes any sense otherwise. I have rarely been able to live only for myself. I’m not sorry for the results, but I am for the cost. I had one year or so to myself. When I first left home, I got to make all my own decisions as well as take all the consequence. And it all led me to Skyrim, and then to you, and now here. I have to believe it will lead me home again. Because you are my home._

_I am just unsure now of what I have to offer you in exchange because I don’t know that any of this (being dragonborn) will ever change for me._

_That’s all for now. The light’s almost gone. How is everyone in Raven Rock? Say hello for me?_

_Love, C._

_T,_

_How are you? I hope whatever you are doing, it is more interesting than where I am; namely, still stuck on this fishy old ship. I never spent so long on one before. I much prefer to have my feet on the ground. The wind came up in a gale last night after supper and tossed us around so badly I began to worry we would capsize. It got so bad that around 1 or 2 this morning we were forced to make harbor south of Daggerfall to wait it out. I have never been so sick. No, maybe that isn’t quite true. You may have seen me sicker, but not by much._

_I feel a little foolish. I have no way of knowing if any of these are reaching you. And, I worry that maybe I’ve written too much, or not enough, or about the wrong things. But I haven’t much else to do here.  
Love,C_

_Ps-its gotten warmer. Don’t need so many layers anymore._

_Dear Teldryn,_

_Here is the address for where Geldrim will be staying. You can send letters there and he’ll make sure to get them across. (Hes not going to go without writing to V himself so they have a secure message system set in place.) Tomorrow we should be arriving on the Isles just before dawn. Under cover of darkness and all that, like proper spies._

_I’m getting nervous again about what we are going to find. I haven’t said anything to the others because I don’t want them to think I’m backing out, but I don’t actually know if I can help. I don’t know how I absorb dragon souls. I just do. But those were all normal living dragons. I never got one from Alduin. I never told anyone that but I can only assume that means he can come back and isn’t really dead. This one is dead and tied by necromancy to some kind of soul gem. What if I can’t access it? What if it does something to me? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you or put this off like I hadn’t considered it before. I still mean to try. Moments like this, I resent how little I know about how this all works. Even the Greybeards couldn’t tell me. What am I?_

_Love,_

_C_

 

Teldryn searched the house for some paper and quills and ink. Then he thought all about what he wanted to write back while he bathed and picked over his cold dinner. Once he got settled down to write, however, he hesitated. 

Where to start?


	27. Long Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning on this ch. for mentions of a past dub/noncon-ish situation.No details, literally just mentions that it happened.

_Ceirin-_

_You don’t have to write me daily journal entries. I got all of these delivered at once. It’s enough to know you’re alright for now._

_Raven Rock is fine. Better than I’ve seen it._

_Councilor Arano gave me the Ulen’s old house. It’s creepy and too big and I hate it but I don’t really know what else to do with it right now. Plus it saves me from having to stay at the Netch, which has gotten crowded. Glover and the rest have been trying to read these letters over my shoulder enough as is. Fetchers._

_I think I understand what you meant about the weather suiting you. I’m in no mood for company, either._

_To answer your main suggestion; sure. We can try writing. For what it’s worth, I’m not fantastic about feelings either. You know me, I hate anything too ~~mushy feely~~ awkward. But we do need to talk. _

_To your next suggestion- No, you never made me feel slighted. ~~And you’ve made me cry twice now and if you ever tell anyone I swear~~ _

_You’re absolutely right; I would not want a long life if it meant staying safe and bored. So, I guess you may also be right about fear of loss not being the main issue. I will have to think about it some more because I don’t know what the answer is. ~~I am afraid of something.~~ And now I have to wonder because you’ve surprised me by saying you don’t know what you have to offer me?!_

_Maybe you don’t realize how people see you? If I stand away from you and look at what they do, ~~you become this terrifying and incomprehensible thing~~ it’s terrifying. _

_I’m sorry if that sounds bad…but I can’t think of how else to say it. You are becoming stronger. More dragon like. It used to be I could only see it right after you had killed one. But now sometimes your posture shifts, or the look in your eyes, and I know that’s what it is. It can be intense when that happens. I’m not sure what it’s like for you, if you are aware when you are doing it? I saw that shift in you our last night in Windhelm._

_You have yet to see your first full century and what you have accomplished in an eye blink is more than other mer will do in their lifetimes put together. You intimidate people by reputation alone. The only living being to enter Sovngarde that anyone knows of. The only mer to do so that anyone knows of. You have the immortal souls of dragons. You can breathe fire. You have the attention and interest of daedra. You’ve saved lives, including mine, cities, towns, and our existence, ~~and for some reason you let me see you naked.~~ And you are still capable of doing more. And I have no idea what to do with any of that. _

_I don’t think you realize it, but there are probably scores of people who would want you based on the reputation alone. Wealthy, famous sorts. Kings, queens, and emperors. You are a living legend. Living legends don’t end up with washed up barely- scraping- by mercenaries they hired in a rundown tavern._

_Except you did. You can be so normal and kind and clever and insecure sometimes. And we work so well together that I actually forget about the rest of it. Then that part of your life turns up again and I get reminded- It’s a very high bar to try and meet and so I’m the one who has to ask you what I have to offer you?_

_Ugh, I think being back where this all started is making me worse about this. I miss you, too._

_I need to change the subject or else I am going to go all mushy again. I’ve been taking out all my frustration on the training dummies that came with this house and Glover is beginning to worry for how often I bring them in to be repaired. And I will NOT be talking to him about any of this._

_Anyway, I managed to meet up with that dunmer Geldis wrote about- the one with the archeological dig? He wasn’t looking for help. He was looking for signing on what he calls a partner, but actually what he wanted was somebody who’ll pay for all his equipment and diggers and such. I agreed for now. We’ll see where it leads._

_Some promising artifacts relating to Solstheim’s dragon cult have been brought up already, but he keeps opening up new chambers full of draugr, because of course he does. So then I have to go out there and clean it out again. Supposedly he has a patron, but I’ve never seen hide nor hair of the fellow. Got the feeling they are after something very specific. There’s something off about this whole setup but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I think he might be scamming me? Keeps me busy, anyhow. It feels wrong to be here on my own. Wish you were here._

_Yours,_

_Teldryn_

 

Ceirin read the letter again. He could picture Raven Rock; the smell of ash and evergreens and cold salt spray. And the Retching Netch, where they had met. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

A mild breeze ruffled his hair as it brought the scent of the sea to him. The winter months in Summerset were cooler and stormy by comparison, but after years in the north, it might as well have been high summer. Ceirin sat in the shade of a copse of fan palms along the sandy sheltered bay overlooking turquoise waters. He was barefoot; legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. 

He looked up and folded away the letter as Var approached. 

“The scouts have gone out. We’ll be able to do more serious planning when they return.” She plopped down in the sand next to him. “How is it being back?”

“I lived my whole life and never set foot on this isle until now.” Ceirin cocked his head to one side and considered more fully. “The landscape’s a bit different than around Alinor. But…similar, too. It’s strange; I’ve gotten used to evergreens and snow in the air. I feel like…either this is a dream, or Skyrim was.” 

Var shuddered. “I couldn’t do it. The weeks I was there, I never once felt warm. Two pairs of socks even at night and my poor toes were still ice cold.”

“I don’t know why, but I like the cold now. No bugs and it smells so clean.”

“That city smelled terrible and you know it.” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s just Windhelm. It always smells like that. Teldryn hates it, too, and he used to live there.”

His face must have fallen after that because Var smiled gently. 

“I miss Geldrim.” She confessed.

“…How do you do it?” He finally asked, “The separation, the fighting, the secrecy…? How do you keep all of that from getting in the way?”

Var sat and chewed on her thumb nail a bit while she thought.

“I don’t know that I have a solid answer. We knew we would face obstacles. It all just became part of our fight; we had each other’s backs and we worked together on overcoming things. It brought us closer. We want to start a family, but with all this happening now….?”

“So will you quit?”

“I think in another few years, we will. At a certain point it has to be enough. Someone else will pick up this fight. It doesn’t have to be us.”

“Except, for me, it does. There don’t seem to be any other dragonborn.”

Var thought about it some more and then turned to him. “What do you want, when you think about a future? Do you see yourself getting married or raising a family at any point?”

“…..I never really thought about it.”

“Ceirin, what is it?” Var sat up and looked closer at him.

“What’s what?”

“Your body language just now. Something I just said made you really uncomfortable.”

Ceirin blew out a long sigh and shifted his shoulders before he realized that was what he was doing and made the effort to stop.

Var’s eyes widened. “You don’t want to get married, do you?”

“…I feel sick even talking about it.”

“Ceirin, I know that back when we were in school, I held some very militant views about what our government was doing to us, and that ‘arranged marriage is a form of servitude’ was one of my tried and true rants, but I’ve learned a lot since those days.”

Then it was Ceirin’s turn to side eye her. “Var, ‘those days’ are less than a decade past.”

“Hush. My point is that I have met many couples here and in Valenwood who are happy together, arranged marriage or no. It doesn’t have to be the trap our people make it into.”

Bad memories rose up through the rogue and he shuddered, adrenaline surging for no reason, breathe going short. _Panic attack._ He hadn’t had one in while. He tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. A placid beach, a friend he trusted, a harmless topic, and he was barely able to function. 

When he could finally get air all the way into his lungs again, he started to apologize, only to be cut off. 

“Don’t apologize; you’re not the only one who gets them. Is there anything I can get you?”

When he shook his head, she asked the question he had known was coming.

“Ceirin, why does talking about this give you panic attacks?”

He rubbed his eyes, digging the heels of his hands in to spark pressure lights across his eyelids before heaving a sigh and deciding to tell her. 

“…It was after you had left. Right after things with the old group went to Oblivion. After they bailed me out, my parents put me under house arrest for several months. I didn’t know it, but they had decided to find a contract for me.”

“Wait, are you saying that you’re already married?!”

“No. There was only the initial paperwork …but…they…we had to spend a night together. I left for the mainland the next day.”

“I am so sorry.” Var sat back and studied him. “Was it her idea or…?”

“No, she didn’t want to either. Both our parents’ decided it. I got the impression she was in love with someone they didn’t approve of so they wanted to rush things through before she ran off.”

“…And it’s considered a blessed arrangement if the bride is already pregnant by the time the ceremony takes place…so they put a rush on that, too.” Var heaved a disgusted sigh. “Was there a child?”

“No. Thank Auriel for small favors.”

“Does Teldryn know?”

“Yeah. He was good about it. He’s a very patient person.”

“But you haven’t talked about a future at all with him.” Var side eyed him. 

“We have. A little.” Ceirin laugh was nervous. “He said he wanted a family someday.”

“When is that? Five years from now? Fifty? Five hundred?”

“I don’t know. We …never actually went into any details”

“I think you need to. If you both want different things, then at some point, you will have to compromise, or things will fall apart. Think about it and be honest when you tell him. That’s the best advice I can give you.” Var hugged him and headed back to the tents.

Ceirin looked back down at the letter. He felt drained in the wake of it all. He would have to wait to write back. Var was right; he needed more time to think. What did he want? He had fought against his parents ideas on that for so long he had never let himself consider anything more than just ‘not what they wanted’. Spur of the moment decisions; living in the present, letting random fancies or curiosity, and finally other people’s needs, define his path. 

Fate… Maybe that’s all it was. He had failed to plan anything.

Teldryn liked plans. His livelihood as a freelance mercenary had depended on it. He had needed to know how long he could live on what coin he had, where he could stay, where his next job would come from. How to network in order to find employment. Organization and self- promotion where both skills he had honed nearly as well as his magic and sword work. Of course he had ideas about where he wanted to be a century from now. 

Ceirin stared back out over the water and tried to imagine his life in a hundred years. He stopped when it made him feel a bit short of breath with an odd tight feeling in his stomach; like another panic attack. After a moment he realized that while he had felt this before, it wasn’t the same.

This was more like… the first time they had kissed, or telling Teldryn that he loved him. Nerves, trepidation, and…

Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I am still working on this. but of course, writers block, and then more recently irl stuff has demanded my attention and since last week I've been sick, so...fun times. I'm just hoping that by the time I finally get to an end its all coherent because as it turns out, writing when I have a fever means loads of typos and wandering plot points that seemed to make sense at the time. Take care and thanks for reading-


	28. Upping the Game

“So what’s this grand plan you had?” Ceirin waited until the scouts had given their reports before asking. 

Varilonwe had been hinting at something in the works all month. She still didn’t have as many eyes inside the cult as she would have liked. The information they were getting tended to be spotty and from too many different sources to adequately verify. It made their risk all the greater and that was too high to begin with. Ceirin assumed she had come up with some way of working around this.

She looked pleased; he had asked exactly when she had been hoping he would, it seemed. Marching over to a large chest, she undid the lock and drew out a heavy set of black robes. Her grim smile told Ceirin before she had even finished shaking out the robes, what she intended. 

“You are.” 

He stared, mouth gone dry and stomach tight with dread, at the Thalmor robes she held out to him. A glance into the chest showed the boots, the gloves, and all the rest. _The last time he had worn….the Embassy_. He’d sworn he’d never do it again. 

“You are going to join them.” 

“Var, I can’t….”

“We don’t have a choice. Our people inside can’t snoop any higher up without revealing themselves. We need someone who can infiltrate to the very heart of this and cut it out. And that’s got to be you.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” A brief stab of guilt there for questioning her in front of the others, but it needed to be done.

“What’s that, Ceirindril?” Her sarcasm matched his.

“They’re all mages, Var. _I can’t cast anything!_ You don’t think that little detail matters?”

“If we were sending you in as a necromancer, it might. But you are going in as an historian and an expert on dragon cults in particular. It should get their leader to lean on your knowledge. Which in turn, should get you access to the dragon itself. You find out what sort and where it is, get word back to us and we’ll draw them out with an attack which should give you time to kill it without too much interference.”

_She really had thought of everything._

A wave of sick inevitability washed over him and left him numb. He reached out and accepted the robes. They felt heavier than he remembered. His fingers tingled at the touch of butter soft leather saturated with protective spells.

After he’d changed and had some more time to get the details of his personal assignment, he was off to another boat to the main Isle. _So much for telling Teldryn I wasn’t going to Auridon._

Shimmerene was this year’s host city for a symposium on advances in science and historical research, which would give his cover identity the reason for arriving. One of the more useful things the scouts had learned was that the leader of this cult would be in attendance. They would be seated at the same table during the dinner and hopefully, contact would be established. It would be up to Ceirin to hold his false identity and try to encourage trust in this Kalaron. 

The more he thought about it on the way over, the more flimsy the plan seemed. If he got caught, he was on his own. Var’s people were gearing up to hit hard and in force so they would not have anyone to spare. He had the sense that reinforcements in the form of altmer defectors were going to be coming from the mainland; he guessed that spreading word and arranging the crossing had been Geldrim’s job. The bosmer would stage an attack on the mainland as well, to keep the Thalmor soldiers stationed there busy. A divide and conquer kind of strategy, but with the smaller numbers, the rebels had to take every opportunity they could get. Ceirin supposed he could do no less.

Shimmerene’s spires were all of cut and colored glass mosaics in pastel colors, surrounded with silver and marble. They sparkled in the sunlight. The rogue felt a pang of homesickness at the familiar architecture. Some Imperial architecture came close but nothing else looked quite like it anywhere that he had been in his travels.

Ceirin’s alter ego was returning from a study on Skyrim’s dragon cults. A clever cover always had some element of truth. Hopefully that would help it hold up if anyone bothered to look closer. 

Once on shore, he set his shoulders, lifted his chin, and strode towards the main square, refusing to allow himself to look around. Altmer didn’t gawk, his mother had once told him. _Maybe my parents’ lessons will actually pay off_. While he would not have minded strolling through the main square and maybe getting a coffee at the little cart where a vendor was selling hot drinks and sweet pastries, he needed to project his character; dry, bookish, disdainful. Just another Thalmor scholar at first glance; his knowledge would speak for itself, or so they all hoped. 

Ceirin focused on keeping his breathing steady and hoped he didn’t look like he was sweating as much as he felt he was. This went far beyond picking pockets or sneaking into houses after baubles. This was a kind of theft, too, he reminded himself. Information, access, opportunity; recognizing and taking advantage of those things were all vital to any thief. And if he wanted to reclaim the position as head of the Thieves guild when he returned, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have upped his game in the time he’d been gone. 

Unless he got caught. 

He pressed his lips tighter to keep from wincing at the idea of Vex’s facial expression if she could see him now. She would never let him live down being this nervous. Swallowing down his trepidation, he headed toward the hall where the symposium was taking place. 

Time to see just how good of a rogue he could really be.


	29. Kettle of Worms

_No wonder they’ve been having trouble getting information. This cavern system’s extensive. People can’t just come and go without being noticed._

Ceirin followed Kalaron as he took another branch, down a long sloping tunnel. The necromancer clearly knew the ins and outs of the place by heart. Weak light flickered from the torches sputtering at intervals along the walls and here and there soft balls of magelight floated over workspaces.

It had taken the better part of two weeks to gain Kalaron’s trust. And now that he had it, the necromancer was leaning on his supposed expertise more and more. His questions had become requests had become demands. Spending the last years in Skyrim had worked in Ceirin’s favor as he had been able to rely on the things he had learned delving into old Dragon Cult ruins. So far, his false identity had held up, but the game became more dangerous every day. 

It had, however, gotten him the invite to see the base of operations. Kalaron seemed to be in a hurry to finish something. And whatever that was, it had to involve the dragon.

They rounded the final bend and went through a guarded doorway; Ceirin tensed at the sight of the skeletons. He had managed to convince Var to let him keep his ebony blades instead of the standard issue Thalmor sword she had tried to give him but he was still very badly outnumbered.

The immense cavern before them opened onto the sky. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ceirin spotted the pedestal supporting an all too familiar black book. He clenched his teeth against the sinking feeling that this had all just gotten to be too much for him. Would he have to go back through to Apocrypha? He wasn’t sure he could handle that again. 

Mora must have given Kalaron the information to resurrect the dragon. This must be what the agent back in Riften had been warning them about. If the necromancer was feeding his people to Hermaeus Mora in exchange for knowledge then maybe there was a way to exploit that. But it would take careful questioning and timing on his part. 

His gaze swept around the rest, taking in works stations and racks of weapons and armor and came to rest finally on the dragon resting in the center of the cavern. 

“Magnificent, wouldn’t you say?” Kalaron was eyeing him in an odd way that made Ceirin’s skin crawl. As though he knew something the rogue didn’t. 

“You’ve reconstructed an entire one?” Ceirin played stupid. He didn’t see a soul gem anywhere. And for a creature such as a dragon, that gem would have to be large and close by. _Maybe it isn’t tethered and I can just kill it normally._

“Reconstructed? Don’t make me laugh.” Kalaron sneered and turned to the dragon. “Rise!”

The chill inducing clatter of bones shifting around echoed throughout the chamber as the dragon lifted its rotted head and peered at them through malevolent eyes lit with reanimate magic.

“Dovahkiin?” 

_Oh, shit._ What was that old saying about no plan surviving reality? No time to get a message out; he would have to improvise something. Ceirin had a split second to lament that as he drew his blades and turned on Kalaron.


	30. Bringing Down The House

“Hermaeus Mora told me to expect you!” Kalaron gloated.

Ceirin flinched. _So that was why he’d been acting so oddly._ He needed to take out the necromancer before orders could be given to the dragon. Especially the sort of orders that might cause it to fly away. If it even could fly. He had no wish to find out. 

Ceirin dodged a blast of ice that flew from the necromancers fingertips. His sword made contact with the robes, sparking a magical backlash as enchantments between blade and cloth clashed; Kalaron stumbled back. Ceirin pivoted and came around again, this time the blade bit through and cut deeply across Kalaron’s upraised arm. Wailing in agony, the necromancer crabbed backwards, flinging out a wall of fire spell to cover his retreat.

Skeletons and undead thralls began to pour in from their guard stations. Ceirin lost sight of the necromancer as more immediate concerns pressed him. The skeletons were simple enough to cut down in lesser numbers but as it stood he would be exhausted long before they ran out here and he still had the dragon and Kalaron to deal with as well as all the living cultists who happened to be in residence tonight. 

He could have sworn he heard a dark burbling chuckle emanate from the book off to the side. Cursing, he shifted his grip on his sword, took a deep breath, and Shouted.

“Faas Ru Maar!”

A wave of skeletons disintegrated and several living foes turned tail and ran. _Alright, one handful less._

The next shout scattered weapons and bought Ceirin a few moments to retreat further, to keep a wall at his back. Spells began to arc towards him, fire balls and bolts of lightning. His robes would shrug off the first few hits, but he was going to need better protection if he meant to survive this. He recalled what Teldryn had said about his dragon self, remembering the feel of fire sliding through his veins and conscious thought coalescing into white hot rage while they had gone through the old imperial fort. 

He ducked down to avoid a spell that singed the wall behind him and tried to call it up. 

For an agonizing moment, he tried and he couldn’t. More mages and thralls had arrived and Ceirin realized that this was it; this was going to be how he died. He would never even get to the dragon. The sheer bloody numbers were going to do for him. He wouldn’t get to see Teldryn again. Or mail that last letter. Or any of it.

And then the rage came. As natural as breathing. He felt the dragon aspect settled over him. Spells and skeleton fired arrows bounced away or missed. He didn’t flinch from any of it. He stood up and walked out to meet them.

That got the undead dragons attention. It had seemed content to watch as the puny creatures around it tore each other apart, but Ceirin’s transformation signaled some greater change. Its head reared back, mouth opening to shout….

Ceirin hit first.

“Gol hah dov!” the force of his thu’um made the dragon step back a pace. “Defend me!”

There was a hesitation as the skeletal dragon tried to shake off the will bending shout. Ceirin was too busy battling skeletons and some handful of mages to wait and see. He worked his way to one side, angling toward the book. He had an idea. If only he could manage it.

And then a blast of fire breath tore through the lot of them. 

Kalaron gaped from the alcove he had sheltered himself in to watch. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Mora had never mentioned that the dragonborn could wrest control of the dragon from him! He watched in sinking horror as his necromancers and all their beautiful thralls fell, burning, to the dragon’s breath. The stench of charred bone and flesh filled the cavern.

 _Well, live to fight another day and so on._ He clutched his bleeding arm closer to his chest and turned to stagger for the exit.

Too late, he realized he needed to go back for the book. He turned and took a different hall, yelling for reinforcements.

“Get me that book!”

Back in the cavern, Ceirin backed around until he stood in front of the pedestal, then further until he was past it. A fresh wave of mages and thralls came tearing through the doorway towards him, spells and weapons at the ready. 

The rogue braced himself, using a shout of elemental fury to lend speed to his defenses. As soon as the majority of the group had come around before him, he yelled to the dragon.

“Now!”

Another gout of dragon fire engulfed them. And the pedestal that held the book. _If dragon fire doesn’t destroy it, then I don’t know what will …_

Ceirin became a blur of blades and footwork as he defended against those few who made it through the flames. An arrow struck him, slicing high along his cheek before clattering off somewhere to the floor beyond him. The rage was starting to falter. He would lose the dragon soon. And he still needed a signal. Something to let Var know it had all gone wrong.

Just a little longer. He clung to the dragon aspect and shouted for a cyclone. He had never tried it before, had no idea what it would do. 

In the enclosed space of the cavern, an ungodly roar burst forth as the funnel cloud whipped into existence, stretching up past the rocky ceiling and up into the night sky. Debris, bodies both living and dead, flaming pieces of paper, bits of rock and plant material from above, it all tore about the cavern with immense force. 

Ceirin was wrenched, pulled, rolled across the floor. He felt something in his chest pop as he was slammed against the railing, where he clung for dear life. He lost track of his sword after he had dropped it on impact. Air was torn from his lungs and his face scraped raw from grit and debris whipped past him at high speeds. His vision danced with spots as he squinted against the maelstrom.

_I hope she sees it._

The dragon had pulled its head and wings in close, hunkered down as it tried to avoid the winds. What little flesh had remained on its wings shredded under the force of the tornado. 

Ceirin prayed that might mean it could no longer fly. 

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind stopped. Ceirin’s ears popped with the change in pressure. It was all he could do to try and breathe. Stabbing pain lancing through his chest told him he had broken some ribs. 

_If the dragon is down then maybe I can finish it. I have to try._

He heard the rasp and drag of desiccated claws on stone. Rolling over to his back he risked a look around. Bodies lay strewn about where they had fallen. One hung precariously from the lip of the cavern until a bit of rock came loose and it all fell to the floor. Burning bits of paper and dust hung in the air. Aside from his own gasping for breath and the shuffling scrape of the dragons movements, there was no sound.

He knew he was about to lose the dragon aspect entirely. He was tired and hurt and any second now he was going to lose that edge.. .he looked up at the cavern overhead, at the rocky debris that had come loose during the cyclone. The dragon took another step toward him, malevolent eyes focusing. He no longer had control of it. Ceirin shut out the pain of his ribs, the raw sting of myriad cuts, scrapes, bruises, and wrenched muscles. He forced himself to take as deep a breath as he ever had, past he pain, past the dragon aspect, channeling everything he had left. One last shout.

“Fus ro dah!”

The concussive force slammed through the cavern, buffeted the dragon, rebounding off the walls and shaking loose the very rock. Cracks formed overhead. The dragon raised its head and shook itself, appearing to be puzzled by his choice of shout. It opened its mouth and Ceirin stared as the spark of fire breath began in its throat. He braced himself to try and roll away.

And then the cavern collapsed, burying dragon and dragonborn alike.


	31. Burn It Down

Varilonwe paced before the fire, chewing a nail. It was an old habit and one she had been admonished for many times as a child. It helped her think. And what she thought was that this plan was putting all the risk on Ceirin, a mer she hadn’t seen in years, who none of her people had reason to trust. A mer whose capabilities she didn’t truly know. 

And he had agreed to come all this way to help only to have the crucial part of their success dumped on him. She was not ignorant to the talk around camp. The whispers that she was mad to trust him. What would this cost them in the end? She wondered, too, what it would cost him. She had seen the look in his eyes when she had insisted he wear those robes. Not that she had much choice.

None of the altmer now stationed here under her command were unaware of importance of what they needed to accomplish. They were all dedicated to freeing the Summerset Isles of Thalmor influence. If they couldn’t manage to break this cult here and now, they would never be able to gain people’s confidence. Any attempt against the Thalmor afterward would fail. They would likely lack the numbers by that point anyhow. It was all or nothing now. 

Heaving a sigh, she turned and headed toward her tent. Another sleepless night spent waiting. Everything was ready. Armor was fitted. Weapons sharpened. Spells studied. All they needed was a signal from Ceirin. Who knew how long that might take; it could be weeks before he had an opportunity to act. Somehow, though, Var didn’t think it would take that long. There was a strange tension in the air tonight. Even the birds had been silent. As if it wasn’t just her who was sick of waiting, but the whole island.

She settled down on a rickety folding camp chair and had reached to unlace her boots, intending to try and get some rest when the commotion started. Voices rose in alarm. A scout was there an instant later, calling for her to come up to the lookout post and see what was happening.

She ran, leaping up to the top of the rocky outcropping and snatching the spyglass from the guard’s hands.

Not that she needed it.

A whirlwind of debris swirled up into the night sky, lit by fires below. A single large funnel cloud in an otherwise perfectly calm night sky. Scanning the area through the glass, she spotted figures moving, swarming out into the dark of the surrounding woods; cultists looking to escape the fighting in the close quarters of the caverns had emerged to regroup.

_Auri-el protect us, somethings gone wrong._

“That’s it. That’s our signal! We go now!”

Jumping down, she shouted orders to send up the signal flare. The single brighter –than- moonlight magelight arced up and out over the water. She prayed those on the mainland had seen it and craned her neck until she saw an answering flare. 

Then everyone was running; rebels moved out from their hidden camp and headed to flank the cultists, cutting them off from being able to retreat back into the caverns.

Arrows flew, then spells. Explosions as fireballs rained down. The undergrowth caught. Before long the entire area was drenched in firelight as dried palm fronds, grass, evergreen needles, and fern bracken went up like grease soaked torches. 

Varilonwe led the charge, her storm atronach rumbling through and electrifying cultists as she followed; mace smashing into one skeleton after another. Archers targeted the mages when they could, watching for those occasionally still, focused figures amidst the chaos. Screams and curses, the wet pulp and crunch of weapons into flesh filled the night air. The earth below their feet churned as fresh thralls were called up. A man next to her went down screaming, dragged into the earth by bony hands. 

Another fell to a firebolt that hit him in the chest, burning through his armor and dropping him back. She screamed for a medic, certain that the few healers they had with them were nowhere in hearing range, and kept right on fighting. She could see bodies on the ground in every direction, the firelight casting them in stark contrast. _How many were hers?_ She shut the line of thought down before it could stall her momentum. Her mace struck an enemy mage in the shoulder, crunching through the collarbone and dropping her to the ground with a cry. The best way to help them all now was to get this done as soon as possible.

An arrow nicked her arm, tugging her back a step. Sweat stung her eyes. She wiped her face on her sleeve and flinched away as another spell exploded against the trunk of a nearby tree. A magicka potion helped to refresh her reserves. They might have to keep up this onslaught for a while.

Sounds echoed out from the caverns, a dragons roar, immense sounds that might have been Ceirin Shouting, although she didn’t recognize his voice. The ground shook. The sound of solid rock splitting apart hurt her ears. 

And then a massive section of the caverns collapsed.

One moment, they had all been struggling forward, pushing and fighting for every step against the numbers of thralls and mages defending. 

The next and everyone was in full retreat; the cultist lines broken, thralls collapsing, mages fleeing as an avalanche of dirt and rocks came down and the ground beneath their feet fell away. 

_Ceirin was still in there…damn it all!_

Only to run smack into the squad of Thalmor soldiers who had arrived from the other direction.

_Well, that is one problem with a signal no one can miss. You can’t control who else decides to investigate it. How did we miss anyone being this close to respond so quickly though…?_

“What do we do?” One of Var’s men, a scout, she thought by the light armor he wore, although she couldn’t think of his name just then, asked her, eyes fearful and on the new opposition. 

“Hold. Let them make the first move. ” 

The Thalmor wasted no time in mopping up the fleeing cult members. A neat and controlled wave of spells and those that hadn’t fallen were quick to surrender.

There was a long tense moment of both sides sizing each other up. The rebels had regrouped and were now tightening hands on weapons and watching her; waiting for her to give the order.

The Thalmor leader stepped forward, the whole squad shifting forward behind them. One hand rose to signal the attack.

Var’s fingers tightened around the handle of her mace. 

_I’m sorry, Geldrim. We tried._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished this story off at 35 chapters plus an epilogue of sorts. Ugh sooo much writers block happened with these chapters. I have no idea if its any good. Anyway, hang in there cause its almost over. : )


	32. Words Never Sent

The rebel’s camp was a small enclave of tents, cots, and bedrolls carefully concealed amid the rocks. It was the morning after the battle and all was quiet. The few guards left behind were at their posts. A handful of men and women tended the fires below pale dawn skies filled with gulls.

Through one empty tent, in the light of the rising sun, a breeze ruffled the papers left on the folding desk to one side. One letter was lifted and blown to the floor.

 

_Teldryn,_

_I miss you. I’ve been sitting out on the beach and watching the gulls while we wait for the scouts to get back . The water is such a beautiful shade of turquoise this time of year. Spring is here. I’ve been wading already. I’ve also been talking to Var. I asked her how she and Geldrim manage to stay together. She said it was about deciding what we want for our future and working towards it._

_I had another panic attack while we were taking about it. And it occurred to me that I’ve never thought about having a future at all._

_I honestly never thought I’d live this long. Once the whole dragonborn thing came to light and I started following that path, thinking that it was fate, I kept thinking that once Alduin was defeated that I would die. I didn’t know what to do with myself after. I guess I went from believing in fate to just plain fatalistic._

_And I never thought about it before, but that’s what scares me. If I decide I want something for my future then it becomes a thing that can be taken away. I’ve been protecting myself by refusing to look at more than a few days or weeks ahead at a time. No major disappointments that way. But nothing to look forward to either, I guess. So I’ve been trying to decide what I want. And it’s a strange feeling after all these years of avoiding it._

_You are always the one with the plan. What do you want? I know you haven’t told me all of it._

_Because of all the different versions of possible futures I’ve considered, the only constant is that you are always a part of it._

_I still can’t wrap my mind around whether or not I want children. Sometimes I’ve tried to picture that, what it would be like, and I just can’t. But I don’t think that’s the same as me not wanting them, exactly? I remember taking care of Elsirion when he was a baby sometimes. (The first nanny we had for him used to fall asleep on the job and just let him cry. She got fired, later.) So I know how. I just can’t decide if I want to._

_My family isn’t conducive to selling the idea that family is important._

_What about pets? A dog maybe. Those puppies we saw in Markarth were cute. (This is not mutually exclusive to the kids thing, by the way, I’m just brainstorming here.)_

_But the big question, and maybe what I’m getting hung up on, is what would we do about our adventuring? Kids and pets don’t exactly make for good companions into old ruins._

_Riften probably wouldn’t be the best place anyhow. That house is great for just us but it can get small fast._

_I’ll give it more thought. Anyway, we can talk about all this when I get back. Var has some big plan in the works. Hopefully this will get wrapped up soon and I can be on my way back._

_Love,_

_Ceirin_

 

Another stray gust and the letter tumbled across the sand to land in the fire where it blackened slowly, embers glowing around the edges until it burst into flame and then crumbled into ash.

A red sun rose in the east and the gulls continued their screaming.


	33. In The Dark

Ceirin woke to water dripping onto his face. He licked parched lips and tried to tip his head so more would run into his mouth. It was tepid and gritty and it tasted like dirt. When his mouth was moistened enough to swallow a bit, he tried to understand his surroundings. It was dark. Everything hurt and he couldn’t move. He remembered Shouting then, the ceiling of the cavern collapsing…

He also recalled coming to earlier to what had sounded like a battle being waged overhead. No one had heard his cries. 

He struggled to work himself loose. One arm was pinned to his chest, pushing uncomfortably against his broken ribs. His other was somewhere off to the side under rock and debris. He could wiggle his fingers and shift the arm a bit. After some careful twisting and pulling, he manage to get his elbow moved in closer to his body and then to get his forearm angled up and around the hunk of rock blocking it to also rest on his chest. Fresh scrapes oozed blood, but at least he’d be a bit warmer.

He was more worried about his legs. He couldn’t move or see them, but between the numbness and the flashes of agony and that he was feeling feverish, he knew there were more serious injuries. 

Ceirin shifted a bit again and a sudden flood of moist dirt rushed down over his face. Panic hit and he held his breath until it stopped, exhaling to clear his nose and mouth as he wiped it away. Nearby, more rubble shifted.

“Careful where you step, this whole area is unstable.”

“You’re right. I think the rain is making it settle.”

_Voices?!_

“Here! I’m down here!”

His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. The conversation faded. 

“Help!”

They were leaving. They had not heard. 

Despair choked him. Tears burned his eyes. For some reason, he thought then of the magelights that had hovered over the workstations… 

Magelight….

Another moment of panic as he struggled to remember the spell. It had been so long since he’d given up on ever being able to cast any real magic.

A few careful breaths to focus, sending up a wordless prayer to any Aedra or Daedra who might be listening; _please let me have enough for this…_

His heart pounded dully, sweat beading up on his forehead; it took all his concentration and effort. But a small wavering ball of light flickered into existence and drifted up from where he lay. 

He had one last coherent thought before the exhaustion from loss of magicka hit and he passed out.

_Please let someone see it…_


	34. Waking Up

When Ceirin opened his eyes again, it was to Varilonwe sitting next to his cot. 

“You look like Oblivion hit you.” His voice was still just above a whisper. “Where are we?”

She jumped and put aside the papers she had been reading, leaning in to get a better look at him. 

“You’re awake! You’ve been out for almost a week. This is the hospital in Shimmerene. And just wait til someone gets you a mirror.”

Ceirin winced. “Please don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

She sobered then. 

“Your magelight; that was good thinking. We hoped for survivors, but we didn’t have the manpower to search or dig everywhere.”

“What happened after I..? Kalaron, he ran…” He broke off, coughing and wincing.

Var got him some water and then filled him in. 

“Kalaron’s dead. We missed him, too, but the squad of Thalmor soldiers who came out to investigate your little whirlwind didn’t. Then we were setting up to fight them when, and here’s where it gets really weird, but a Psijic monk showed up. 

“What?”

“I thought I was seeing things. We all did. But he talked everyone down and explained that there was an artifact, that Kalaron would have it, that he needed to destroy it and could we all please help look for it. It looked like a black soul gem but it was a lot smaller than what a soul gem for trapping a dragon should have been. But I guess that’s why it was dangerous. The monk said once it was destroyed, then you would be able to absorb the dragon soul so it couldn’t come back.”

“I don’t think I was conscious...I don’t remember it.”  
“Anyway, the Thalmor got orders to return after that. One of our cells hit in Alinor on the same day as we were attacking. We didn’t plan it that way, it just worked out. Fate, huh? But they found what we needed. They found the documents that prove the Thalmor started this cult. They gave high level sanction to some of their mages to start playing around with that book, Kalaron was in charge of the project and found the gem, and it all grew out of that until they didn’t have control anymore.”

“So what happens now?”

“Now…several high ranking Thalmor government officials are being questioned. One or two have already resigned. Some accusations from other countries are coming in. They’re on shaky ground now and the public outcry against them is getting louder every day. We’re hoping that if we can offer up some heroes, someone the people can see as being self- sacrificing and possessed of integrity, that we’ll have some strong contenders to take over some positons of real leadership in the upcoming years.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m done, Var. I’m going home. Like you said, I have to draw a line.”

She sat silent for moment, expression sad.

“I had to ask. Anyway, one of us should.”

“What is it? Var, you won. This is exactly what you were hoping for. Isn’t it?” Ceirin felt as though he must be missing something. His pain was getting worse, now that he was awake, but even so something wasn’t tracking.

“Geldrim’s dead. He stopped the Thalmor on the mainland from responding, but…I just don’t feel like I can celebrate anything right now.”

“I’m so sorry,Var.”

She pulled her hand away when he reached for it.

Ceirin tried to sit up only to realize he was in too much pain. 

One of the healers came in, an elderly plump Altmer fellow with a pleasant weathered face framed by thick silver hair and silver spectacles. He checked Ceirin’s vitals and went about unwrapping the bloodstained bandaging from his leg to apply fresh.

Which was the first time the rogue got a look at them. 

It hadn’t just been broken. It had been shattered. Stitches showed where the skin had been knit back together after bone and rock had cut through in multiple places. The flesh was a horrid medley of bruise colors and swollen. His other leg was also bruised and badly cut but at least he could move that one. He gritted his teeth against the nausea and the urge to scream that came with bone pain, trying to breathe through it, only to have more pain echo in his chest and ribs. 

“How bad is it?” 

“Well, you’ll live. And you’ll keep the leg. It took three of our best healers and mages the better part of an entire night to get you to that point. So don’t push it. Your body needs rest now more than anything. But in another week or two we can see about getting you a brace and a cane to get you walking around again.” He blotted more healing salve onto the wounds before redressing it all in clean linen.

“Two weeks.” Ceirin groaned and flopped back onto the pillow, defeated.

Var gave him a sympathetic look as she was ushered out. “I’ll see if I can shorten it for you but no promises.”

Another dose of pain medication and Ceirin found he could no longer stay awake. He drifted off before he could ask if anyone had sent word to Teldryn.


	35. Returning

It had been weeks. And then months.

They’d been exchanging letters on a fairly regular basis. That had been going better than he had expected. Some were funny and some were heartfelt and others had been the private sort that made Teldryn grateful he had a place to himself. His own fault really, since he had started it as a bit of not –so- subtle vengeance for being left alone all winter.

And then Ceirin’s had stopped.

Teldryn had tried to brush it off at first. A courier had lost a letter. That happened. Or maybe Ceirin had just been too busy. That was a good thing, right? That meant he was getting things done and might come home sooner. 

Teldryn had certainly been busy himself. The ruins had finally been cleared after bad weather had delayed them for several weeks. He’d tried to warn Ralis about the dragon priest, to be cautious as they neared to clearing that final chamber, but the man had been so consumed by excitement over a goal almost in reach that he had seemed gripped by a kind of mania; not sleeping and talking so fast and in a manner that made no sense. He had thrown caution to the wind. And it had been his downfall.

The spellsword had returned to check progress one dreary afternoon to find the place deserted. Only upon finding bloodstains and Ralis’ disjointed journal entries had he understood the greater threat.

Had it not been for the time he had spent with Ceirin, he most likely would not have survived. But knowing what a dragon priest could do gave him the edge he needed to prepare for the fight. Extra magicka and healing potions had been long since added to his pack and he had taken to keeping a staff among his weapons. 

The only hitch in the plan was Ralis. The idiot had gone and become enthralled by the damned thing. Once it became clear that Teldryn was not about to let him continue slaughtering his own workers to finish the ritual that would grant the dragon priest the power to fully possess him, he attacked Teldryn as well.

That was tricky. Ralis was no warrior, but the madness and conviction behind the dragon priest’s puppeting made him far more dangerous. And Teldryn wasn’t willing to murder him. He needed more answers.

So while his atronach kept the priest busy he dodged and parried until he found an opening to slam the pommel of his sword against the other’s head; Ralis crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

He reset himself against the priest. The staff came in handy; he summoned another atronach just as the first one crumbled away to nothing. The ebony blade was well sharpened; it sliced through the priest once, twice, a third time. The thing floated about and Teldryn kept his footwork tight so as not to wind up with his back to it. He took some hits as well, magic scorching through his armor to make his teeth clench and his muscles jolt. 

In the end, he caught it with an upward cut that went deep through the robes and into the desiccated corpse flesh beyond. It disintegrated with an otherworldly wail, leaving Teldryn panting and bloodied but somehow still on his feet.

Slapping Ralis awake, he meant to question him; but the sick horror upon realizing what he had done rendered the other mer incoherent. Heaving a disgusted sigh, Teldryn hauled Ralis to his feet and dragged him back to Raven Rock. The spellsword figured it was better to let the healers and the guards decide what to do with him.

After turning him over, Teldryn headed to the Netch, hoping against hope that today there might be a letter. 

Nothing.

Geldis shrugged in apology as he handed over Teldryn’s meal but the spellsword wasn’t hungry anymore. There was only one reason Ceirin would have gone this long without any word. 

_He wasn’t coming back._

He asked Geldis for a bottle of flin to add to his tab. The notion of getting blind drunk tonight appealed more than anything else had for a while.

“Hey, you want to grab a table and eat with us? Bralsa’s buying. ” Glover asked from where he sat perched on a bar stool next to the miner, who nodded her greeting. Fresh off a shift, she was even filthier than Teldryn. They had been trying to drag Teldryn out to socialize more and more of late, claiming that being cooped up in that old house was making him depressed. 

Teldryn was on the verge of telling the blacksmith, in colorful, anatomically impossible terms, to leave him to his own business. He knew damned well that he was depressed but the house was the least of it and anyway, he had nowhere else to go. He was running low on coin again after investing so much in Ralis’ little death pit. And, of course, there was no one to pay him back for that job now. Until he could find a buyer for some of the artifacts he’d collected out of the place, he needed to be frugal. He could not have cared less about any of it.

As he was collecting his things and getting ready to leave, Mogrul and his bodyguard came shouldering their way to the front of the line. 

“Move it, you’re takin too long.” Mogrul shoved Teldryn’s shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

“Wait your turn.” Teldryn was in no mood to deal with Mogrul’s bullying. 

“Don’t you have a dead boyfriend to go cry over? What’re you wasting my time for?”

Something in the spellsword snapped. He smashed the bottle against the counter and lunged at the orc without a thought. He saw the whites of Mogrul’s eyes. Then he was on the floor with the breath knocked out of him. Glover and Bralsa were lying on top of him; they had tackled him. Geldis, who had vaulted the counter, was prying the bottle from his hand while several off duty members of the Redoran guard lunged to their feet from tables and stools about the place. 

Slitter, Mogrul’s bodyguard, had drawn his blade.

“Stand down, all of you!” Captain Veleth’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. 

“He tried to kill me. You all saw it.”

“What I saw was a man being provoked. And that’s the only warning you’re like to ever get from me.” Veleth stared them down until Slitter sheathed his blade. The two turned tail, grumbling as they left. 

“And you, Sero, I don’t want to put you in a cell. But another stunt like that and I will. Understand?”

Teldryn managed a terse nod.

“Get him home and sober him up.” 

Teldryn frowned and opened his mouth to point out that he wasn’t drunk yet but Bralsa brought a fist up under his chin hard enough to click his teeth back together. Glover nodded. 

Satisfied, the captain went back to his table. It seemed to signal to everyone else to go back to their own meals and gradually the sounds of plates and silverware and conversations rose to fill the silence again.

Geldis, having secured the broken bottleneck, let go of Teldryn’s arm and the three of them set him back to his feet. Geldis even tucked a new bottle into the food basket before catching Glover’s eye and jerking his chin towards the door. The spellsword, numb, followed along as Glover dragged him out the door. 

As soon as they got out to the empty market plaza, the blacksmith rounded on him.

“What the fuck? Have you lost your mind?”  


“Sure. Maybe.” Teldryn shrugged.

“Just going to throw your life away, then?”

“Glover, I’m not in the mood for your lectures.”

“No, but you’re damn well going to listen anyway. You almost murdered someone tonight. I’ve never seen you like this. I get it. You’re grieving and Mogrul went and jabbed at that wound, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

“Shut up.”

“And there’s why. You bottle every damn thing up until you explode. You’re not the only one to go through this.”

Teldryn felt his eyes burning. He bared his teeth at Glover.

“What would you know?”

“I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard about the bandit attack that killed Sapphire’s mother. You’ve never even asked me her name. Have you ever asked Geldis where the rest of his family is? Fethis lost his wife to an Argonian raid. He won’t talk to anyone about it either and it’s making his poor kid neurotic. Bralsa had a son once. Then a mine shaft collapsed. She’s here now. He isn’t.”

“Don’t” Teldryn’s voice broke.

“We all get it, Sero. We know what it’s like not to be there when they need you, to only find out after the fact. The only difference is, you don’t know he’s dead yet.”

“Then why else…?” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I don’t know. They got lost or maybe he couldn’t…” Glover’s eyes focused past Teldryn. “Or maybe he was traveling.”

“…I can’t. Please just leave it alone, Glover… I just need to go home and get drunk and get some sleep.” He tried to move past the blacksmith but Glover’s hand had clamped down on his shoulder.

“No. What you need to do is turn around.” 

“Mallory...I’m warning you…”

“Oh, for the love of Oblivion, _turn around_ , you pathetic lovesick s’wit!” 

That got Teldryn’s attention. That and the look of incredulity on Glover’s face. 

_Can’t be….but Glover wouldn’t lie. Not about this._

Teldryn tried to swallow down the sudden feeling that his heart was trying to beat its way out of his throat. Feet shuffling, he forced himself to turn. 

Someone was standing in the road. Leaning on a cane. Wearing a long beat up leather coat. Gloves. Ebony blades in faded scabbards. A scarf. Hair’s too long again. 

And then their eyes met and they stood staring at one another as everything else just disappeared.

He didn’t remember moving but somehow they were in each other’s arms and then Ceirin’s mouth was against his and suddenly everything was alright with the world again. He felt Ceirin shift his weight off his injured leg in order to lift him up so his feet hung off the ground. His face burned to think of how ridiculous he must look but the time when his appearance would have mattered enough to him to make him back off was long gone. 

“Fetcher. I didn’t think you were coming back.” Teldryn managed after he was set back down. “When did you get here?”

“This afternoon. But you were out and, as much as I wanted to, traipsing after you wasn’t an option.” He gestured to his leg. “And I did promise some folks I would get checked when I got here. So I was over talking to Aphia. Speaking of healers…what’s all this?”

His fingers brushed the cuts and bruises on Teldryn’s face. 

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

They walked back to the house holding hands.

They didn’t walk back out again until nearly a week later when they had run out of food. 

Eventually, they made their way back across to the mainland and their little house in Riften. It was a slower, more leisurely trip than the first one they had made a year previous. They returned to find news that had piled up while they had been gone; First Emissary Elenwen had been recalled, her name having been among those revealed as involved with the cultists back on Summerset. 

The Empire was no closer to naming an emperor, but the ruling council seemed to be holding its own for the time being. There were rumors that the Bosmer were considering leaving the Aldmeri Dominion in the wake of several skirmishes and riots but no one seemed to know if that were true. 

There were several letters from Elsirion, complaining about his classes and parents. His last letter begged to come and stay with them. Ceirin wrote back and shortly after, Elsirion showed up on their doorstep with all of his things and took over their guest room whenever he and Tsajarra weren’t out causing trouble. He was entertaining the notion of transferring to the mages college in Winterhold, because that was where Tsajarra wanted to enroll; her uncle had encouraged her to focus on a real education rather than learning to steal. 

Ceirin agreed, whereas their parents did not, that Elsirion needed more time before making any serious decisions.

Ceirin’s leg continued to heal although it would always cause him pain. He stayed close to home for a long while, resting and generally behaving himself with the exception of reclaiming his position as Guild Master, much to Brynjolf’s relief and Teldryn’s bemused exasperation.

On a warm day in late spring, a letter arrived addressed to all three mer; a birth announcement for one Inare Aedthaer. The parchment bore a tiny footprint inked next to the signature line. 

The trip to Windhelm to visit to meet their new sister was subdued; none of them really knew how well they would be received. They needn’t have worried; while Nalarie and Arncurion were sill not precisely warm, they also wanted to see all of their children together and were willing to be civil on account; they let Ceirin know they wanted to talk things through some more and that he was no longer banished from their home. Seeing that Elsirion was doing better seemed to have been the final thing that convinced them. 

Teldryn even got to hold Inare, who was a frighteningly small bundle of newborn mer, in his broad calloused hands; she fell asleep drooling onto his shirt and he didn’t want to give her back when it was time to leave.

Spring shifted into summer and by then the two mer were adventuring again. Though not always just the two of them; sometimes guild members came along, sometimes Elsirion and Tsajarra. There was a greater sense of home and of family; their house was rarely empty.

More valuable than the treasure they found or the friendships they forged was the future they had started to actually talk about. It was tentative and fragile but both mer agreed it was worth the risk to try and follow that road wherever it would lead.


	36. Epilogue: The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place roughly a year later.

Teldryn’s feet ached. Sweat prickled and slipped down his back and sides. Grumbling, he swatted at a cloud of gnats that swirled too close to his face. They had been walking for hours. 

Ceirin still wouldn’t tell him where they were going. 

They had spent the night in Riverwood. It had rained, just enough to fall asleep to the patter of it against the roof overhead and to have steam rising off the road once the sun came up, but not enough to soak in. There were still dry areas under most of the trees and heavier undergrowth. The sky overhead was a clear soft blue, gentle breezes rushing low patches of foggy humidity along the far shore and over the lake.

The mild scent of the lake mingled with the summer- warmed fragrance of the pines all around them. Dragonflies zipped along the road around them and skirted the shore. Flowers bloomed in patches of light along the road. 

Falkreath Hold was still lovely. 

He had commented on the peace and quiet of Riverwood once, the first time they had traveled through. Ceirin’s only response to his daydreaming about ‘maybe retiring there’ at the time had been an odd look and to ask him, _“Here? Really?”_

Teldryn trudged along, trying to ignore the nervous tension building in the pit of his stomach. 

Ceirin had been acting odd for weeks now. Well, longer than that if he was honest; spending time away, apparently spending large sums of money on… something. He’d been evasive when questioned. Teldryn had cornered Vex only to be told it wasn’t guild related. No one seemed to know what he was doing. And while the rogue had done his best to reassure Teldryn that nothing was going on, the spellsword couldn’t help being suspicious. He knew what it looked like when someone started to build another life somewhere else.

He had no idea why they had come all the way out here. Falkreath’s old ruins were further to the west. There hadn’t been any reports of bandits. No recent dragon sightings either. There were some hunters and woodsmen or the occasional spriggan. So… _why were they out here?_

When they came to the bottom of a downhill slope and into a more level area with a clearing down to the lakeshore, Ceirin suggested a lunch break. 

While the rogue set the food up on a nice flat rock, Teldryn hauled off his boots and cooled his feet in the shallow water. He watched as the rogue fumbled and dropped the packet of food and then nearly knocked over his bottle of ale. 

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” He asked when Ceirin handed him the other bottle. 

“I’ve been working on a…a project of sorts. I want you to see it.”

Slices of smoked venison, apples, and cheese made an excellent meal while they talked and paddled their feet in the lake. 

“Well, you could have just said so. I was beginning to worry.” _Nothing to do with the thieves guild, eh?_

“I didn’t know how it would turn out,” Ceirin shrugged, “So I didn’t want to say anything until it was ready.”

“So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to all this time? It’s a lovely spot.”

“I…yeah. You think so?” 

There was something about the altmers tone that made it sound as if the simple comment had some importance to it, but damned if Teldryn could figure out why.

They finished eating and packed up their things, pulling socks and boots back on over damp and slightly sandy feet. Ceirin stopped to pull a fabric bandana out of his pack. He turned to the spellsword, apologetic.

“Ah..I need to blindfold you.”

“I beg your pardon? What for?” Teldryn’s chin came up and he stepped back, ready to argue.

“….It’s a surprise? I don’t want you to see it until we’re there. Please?” 

The tall rogue was doing his best to make a pleading puppy sort of face, despite his features being poorly suited to the expression. Teldryn chewed his lip a moment before heaving a disgusted sigh and relenting.

“Fine. But walk me into any trees or piles of bear crap and you’re back to sleeping alone.”

Ceirin snorted softly from somewhere near his left ear as he secured the fabric over the spellswords eyes. 

They started walking again, much more slowly, as Ceirin did his best to guide Teldryn in the right direction. 

Teldryn felt cobblestones under foot for a ways, and then weeds against his legs as they left the road. The ground sloped uphill. Several times they had to stop so Ceirin could help hoist him up over ridges and boulders. They skirted around something large. Patches of heat told him when they passed through open sunlight. 

They ended up following something that felt like a trail, broader than a deer path, but still just rough dirt. He could smell fresh cut wood. 

They came to a stop and Ceirin turned him to face in a particular direction. 

“So…this. It’s kind of a family tradition…”

“Blindfolding people and dragging them through the woods?” Teldryn quipped. The suspense was making him anxious all over again.

“No, not that.” Ceirin’s laugh had an edge to it.

Teldryn cocked his head, listening closer. _He’s nervous. What was he up to?_

“I know my family is horrible, but... No. It’s..well, as much as my family has any traditions, this is the only one I could think of that …what I could offer that ..” He huffed out a frustrated sigh. Teldryn heard boots scuff on the ground as if he were pacing. “I’m making a muddle of this. I knew what I wanted to say and then we got here and now…” 

This had gone on long enough. 

Teldryn pulled the blindfold off and blinked to readjust to the light. Ceirin turned from his pacing, caught wide eyed in midstride. He was turning something over in his hands as he moved; passing it from one hand and then flipping it over the backs of his fingers before it went back to the other.

Sawdust. They were standing in little drifts, heaps, and trails of it, all mixed in with the mud. That was where the scent of lumber had been coming from. Construction.

Teldryn looked up at the building in front of him; neat stone steps, the foundation new and bare of any plantings, clean plaster still showing a few damp patches from the recent rain. He couldn’t see how far back it went from where they were standing, all part of Ceirin’s little scheme, he supposed. 

“..What have you…?” He started to ask.

Except then Ceirin was kneeling in the dirt in front of him and pressing something small but weighty, _a key_ , into his hand and asking him something important. He could barely hear it under the thudding rush of blood in his ears and when his brain finally caught up, the words made no sense. 

_Will?_

_You?_

_Marry?_

_Me?_

_What?_ The enormity of the moment, of the question, hit Teldryn like a giants cudgel. 

Of all the relationships he’d had, casual or serious, this had _never_ come up. Even when things then had been good. And they had been good, sometimes for years, once or twice even for decades. But he had never asked them, and they had never brought it up and it struck him now, looking back, that in every instance, they might have both been aware on some level of something in the relationship not being quite _good enough_ to merit the topic.

And as much as he teased Ceirin about his messed up family or about adopting children someday, he admitted to himself that it was really because he wanted those things. With Ceirin. It was a far distant horizon from where they stood now but if he was going to make that trip with anyone….

Which meant…. _there was something he was supposed to say._

At some point he became aware that he must have gone too long without answering because Ceirin was standing there apologizing and mumbling something about … _should have talked to you about this first instead of dragging you all the way out here…_

_Shit. What was the word he needed? Oh, right._

“Yes.”

“Alright. We can talk-”

“No, not that. I mean,” He took a breath, curling his fingers around the key, possessive. It felt warm, having absorbed the heat from his hand, and from Ceirin’s before that. That felt symbolic, somehow. Appropriate. “Yes, I will.”

Gold eyes widened and the look of joy growing in them was so hesitant and fragile that Teldryn was afraid to move for a second in case he scared it away and it all turned out to be a dream. But it was only for a second and then his arms were around the taller mers neck, dragging him down into a kiss that said all the rest without words.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this crap all the way thru to the end. *Sigh* I had bigger plans for this when I started it and then life sucked the life out of me, as it does sometimes, and I realized I wanted to wrap the story up sooner than I had originally intended. So...if my whole final fight scene, etc, is totally anticlimactic, thats why. I slapped it together over the course of abt 2-3 weeks while wrestling with writers block and depression. As much fun as writing these two has been, I am struggling with other stuff rn and I needed to just... be done. And now I am. Thanks again for reading!


End file.
